Zelda: Afterworld
by Reghedable
Summary: Story about the events after OoT; Link&Saria. Link's beginning to feel some PTS after all the trials he was put through; he is still Hylian, after all. Review!
1. Leaving

Like a boulder amidst a hurricane, Link watches the festivities unfold before his eyes without a sound. Being the champion of time itself, he knows the celebration of Ganondorf's imprisonment is ultimately in vain. Keeping a man like Ganondorf imprisoned is foolishness itself, but little else could be done. Though he is controlled for now, he is immortal; immortal in a way the sages could never be. And when a man is caged, no matter how cruel and selfish he may be, he turns into a beast, something far worse.

While the cheering and dancing roars about him, he broods in silent contemplation of the inevitable second coming of Ganondorf, and suppresses an internal shudder. When that time comes, he won't be here. That he's sure of, in the way that greyed him beyond his years more than any monstrosity or horror he ever had to face. The end to his mortality will be quick and brutal, senseless and violent, as much of his life had been.

Watching the massive bonfire erupt and reform fluidly, he feels a leaden bout of spiritual malaise. He drifts back to the Sages, condemned to a quasi-immortal life watching and waiting for the next hero. He detected the well hidden but deep regret in Saria's voice as she spoke to Link. _I will always be... your friend..._ Will that regret sour, even in a heart like Saria's? She will grow lonely with the passing years, even within the Sacred Realm. The forest and its inhabitants were her true family, she their protector in ways they understood only after her departure. This is why she.. liked Link, he now realises. He was an outsider, one she did not recognise as brother (nor did the other Kokiri, for that matter.) How long had they lived before his arrival? Link raises his haunted eyes to the sky, pigments of dusk deep and rich. A small distance away, fireworks are being shot up into the air, exploding into a thousand fading sparks. Zelda had asked for him; to impart a gift, perhaps. A departure gift. She knew all along of his plans to leave this place, restored to its glory at the cost of his happiness.

He arises, wanting to leave this place as soon as possible, lest he is confronted by a partier. He can feel Saria's eyes on him, even now. Making a hasty pace, he calls Epona to his side. The horse's gallops can be heard in the distance, and soon he sees the red horse bulleting toward him. She slows as she approaches, and he gives her snout an affectionate stroke before mounting. He takes one last look at Kakariko Village, in shambles but with a seed of hope still planted deep in its soils, and rides toward the similarly fated Hyrule Castle Town.

The Town itself is still a ruin, but devoid of the monstrosities that lurked its broken streets not a day ago. It is quiet, and not unwelcoming. Link appreciates it, resonates with the silence.

Epona trots up to the ancient Temple of Time, unnerved by the desolation of the town below. The sky had parted above Hyrule. It is a beautiful night.

Zelda catches sight of Link entering the temple and walks toward him. Nearing her, Link could see the concern in her eyes. It touches him, but not sentimentally. After his experience, sentimentality is a bygone dream. Link slows Epona to a trot, and stops her a few feet from Zelda.

"Link.. You're leaving, aren't you?"

Link pauses a moment. Leaving seemed the clear path in his heart when he was surrounded by raucous celebration, but now? Here he stood, alone with Zelda, a slow sadness creeping across her face at his silence. "Yes. Tonight, if I can."

"Where?" Zelda inquires, attempting to sound casual. As soon as the words leave her mouth, she knows she won't find out. She can read in Link's face that he doesn't have the slightest clue.

"There are other worlds than these, Zelda," he gives her a wan smile, "I'll figure it out. I always do."

She nods. "I knew you were leaving. It wasn't a prophecy, not really.. But I knew." She turns her eyes down. Not crying, Zelda has grown too hard for such displays. Gathering herself, he realises. When she looks up again, Link sees that uncommon fire in her eyes. He wonders if Ganondorf saw that same fire as he was struck down by the Master Sword, burned, but not incinerated. "I have something for you. It's a spell; or rather, the breaking of one. To return you to your natural state, the way you were when you pulled that sacred sword from the pedestal in the Temple of Time." To return to childhood? "Let me see the Ocarina of Time." The thought did not faze him; the memories will linger on inside him, no matter what age he may appear to be. But the idea is appealing. A chance to live out the years he missed, sealed away inside the Temple of Light.

"You have to return the master sword to the Temple pedestal, where it was drawn." He rummages in his tunic for the ocarina and feels his hand enclose about its mass. Zelda receives it from his grasp... Gingerly. Almost timidly.

He'll be immortalised in legend as the mighty Hero of Time, saving Hyrule by banishing the evil Ganondorf into the abyss of the sacred realm, but Zelda knows him as he is now. A young man that defeated a god who murdered his dearest. Still warm now, but growing colder by the second. A cruel twist of fate it was, to see those he cherished before his eyes, dead but awakened. Sages. Beings of which he could not touch nor be touched by, locked only by the gaze he held and the invisible barriers that separated them. How the moon must feel, locked in an endless orbit, destined never to meet but to simply watch Hyrule in it's life and beauty, solemnly, as each passing day fades to memory.

She begins the translucent Song of Time, and Link feels that familiar blue aura surround him. It shapes and reshapes him with a master sculptor's hand, precise and infinite. He looks around him one last time before the great sleep takes hold of him. The Temple itself remains unchanged, but the windows burn with fierce blue light. He opens his eyes, and is a full two feet shorter. Stockier, younger. Perhaps healthier? No, Ganondorf's poison is still in him. It swims in his blood now. He looks upon Zelda, and she, too, is changed. Young. She's smiling now, young as Link. The castle is restored, and the sounds of medieval industry emanate from within. Epona is still here, also youthed by the song's strange power. They are outcasts, he realises. The three of them. Outcasts of time itself. The paradox unsteadies him.

"What of the sages? Are they-" Zelda puts a finger to his lips, her smile fading like clouds smothering an autumn sun. "They're outside time, too, but in a different way. There is one waiting for you, in a place sacred to you both." The smile became a frown. Her eyes grow melancholy. "I can't have you, not now. And I understand. We will meet again, though. I'm sure of it." Her voice quavered only slightly. Her eyes met his. "Go now, Hero of Time. Hyrule will never forget you."

_Neither will I._

She returns the ocarina and walks out, past the great ironwood doors, to a town that will never feel Ganondorf's fire. Zelda would see to it. Link unstraps the master sword, bulky and heavy in his now smaller hands. He brings it to the ancient pedestal bearing the mark of the Triforce, unsheathes it, and rams it into the rock, squeezing his eyes shut, expecting an explosion of magic. Nothing happens. Link opens his eyes to the granite temple, turns to the door, and walks out. The Door of Time grinds shut behind him, perhaps forever. Outside he saddles Epona.

Kicking off, he rides toward Kokiri Forest and the Lost Woods.

* * *

He rides quickly through the Kokiri clearing, ignoring the looks and beckons of the Kokiri children. From the ones he sees, they do not recognise him. He doesn't ponder the implications. Epona jumps the cliffs overlooking the Kokiri clearing, enjoying her reinvigoration, if not understanding it. As he nears the hollowed log entrance to the Lost Woods, Epona slows to a halt.

"Still unsure, girl?" He hops down and strokes her nose. She whinnies quietly, carefully watching the Lost Woods. "I'll be back." He turns away, and enters the Woods. His memory of the forest is clear, and he arrives in the sacred meadow a few minutes later. There are no monsters leading toward the Forest Temple, as there should have been. Through the maze and approaching the Forest Temple's clearing, he sees a green figure in the distance.

Saria. She's sitting, her back to him, playing her ocarina serenely. A wind gusts across the field, blowing Link's blond hair across his face. Saria's hair moves not an inch. Quietly, he moves toward her. The song permeating through the forest has shrunken to a hollow, vacant memory of what it had been. Saria stops playing and turns to him. She looks, simply and profoundly, sick.

"Link." A sad smile dimly lights her face. Link understands now that when she leaves this place, the song that echoed through these woods for so long would cease, and it would become little more than a regular forest. The temple that stood for a thousand years will crumble, and the magic of the Lost Woods will simply fade.

Her face is calm, but her eyes are full of emotion. "You don't belong here anymore. Neither do I."

Bitterness streaked her face, only for a moment. It was that which Link feared the most. It brings him closer. She brings her face near his, then draws away. "They don't remember me. The Kokiri, that is. Not even the Deku Tree sensed me." She gestures to the waning Woods, flecks of red growing on the leaves of the now mortal forest. "I think it'll be like we were never here."

She turns back to him, a small tear escaping her right eye, trickling down her cheek. She manages a small smile.

"But that's okay."

Link sits beside her, on the dead trunk of an ancient tree. She puts her head on his shoulder. "There are two worlds now, two Hyrules, I think. Something the Princess didn't intend. One where you destroy the Lord of Evil, and one where a cruel man named Ganondorf is captured and executed by the King of Hyrule." Link feels small tears through his tunic. He is expressionless. "I wish... I wish I had told..." One look tells her Link understands. This world, this goddamned world. "It's like fighting exhaustion. But I had to wait for you, Link. I can already feel myself slipping away." She turns up to him, with agonizing slowness. Her warmth is fading quietly but unabated. But a new warmth is holding them both. "I always knew what you were, since the first time we met. I knew I had been waiting for you. But... I was afraid. I was afraid and shy of you." He tries to imagine Saria afraid and shy. He cannot. "And now... I am going to fade, and you are going to leave Hyrule." Link holds her closer; he can already feel her slumping slightly, fighting sleep. Her hair, a vivid green, begins to tarnish to a pale lime. Her deep blue eyes were losing colour as well. She smiled. "You never were a man of many words..." Seizing the opportunity, Link leans in. As soon as their lips touch, Saria falls immediately silent, entranced. The feeling sent vibrations down Link's spine, and he feels Saria shiver. Soft explosions rock Link's eyes, excruciating and wonderful. After what felt like eternity, they part.

Unnatural silence settles in the meadow, the night above bleak and starless. Saria sighs, and lays her head again on Link's shoulder. She closes her eyes. He closes his. The warm weight on his shoulder grows light. The scent of pine and flowers that had surrounded Link fades, caught on the breath of time.

Link opens his eyes to find himself alone. Hearing a low rumble, he turns around on the lonely stump to see the forest temple's entrance crumble in on its foundations. He motions to leave, but stops. On the ground, to the left of the ancient stump, a deep purple hydrangea grew. It was not there before. _Bitter wisdom_, he thinks. He smiles coldly at the irony of it all. Outside the woods, he mounts Epona. The horse is impatient from waiting for her master, and is eager to leave the forest. Link rides into the night, looking for the path to lead him away from Hyrule, the haven of his nightmares.


	2. The Desert

_**Link's wanderings brought him far. Time stretched and skewed. He found himself scarred but healing as he left Hyrule behind. He traveled through great wastes, over black oceans. He met no one.**_

Epona is at a slow trot; the sun is strong and water is scarce. Link scans the horizon. Sand everywhere. Nothing like the dunes of the Gerudo Valley; water had dotted the valley in oases, and the landscape wasn't featureless like this. _I'm going glare blind_, he thinks, unconcerned. If blindness takes him, he'll simply stumble onward in darkness. He wanders no longer. Something is calling him; he knows this. Perhaps all along. A power unknown to Hyrule, something possibly stronger than the Triforce? No, unlikely. But strong enough to call him, yes. He pulls his fraying Kokiri hat down to shield his eyes from the blinding glare of the glassy sand. The heat is almost unbearable, searing his arms and face a deep tan. Sweat is soaking through his shirt and rusting his shield. He wipes it off his face, flicking his hand toward the hard pan, its deep cracks swallowing the salty liquid in seconds. He thirsts, as well, but not for water.

* * *

The day was harsh, and night's relief was a blessing. Carefully, Link inspects his rations. Low, and getting lower. Epona is exhausted; when Link dismounted she nearly collapsed to the ground. He allows her a generous amount of water and a helping of hay, and lays down beside her. The sky above them is strange, foreign. Link can see the dim outline of a small moon on the eastern horizon... And another one, slightly larger, orbiting closer to the south. _Where am I?_ A brief thought, followed by Mido's taunting echo in his head. _You're lost, idiot! You ran off like a dullard and now you're lost between hell and nowhere!_

He did not resent Mido in the least. An enemy's voice is the voice clearest with truth. _Hmm... Hearing voices. Am I going insane?_ The thought brings a dry smile to his face. If he's gone insane, it happened a long time ago. His eyes follow the hard pan path northward. Dunes. More dunes. _Wait..._ He gets back up and squints into the distance. Hard to judge, especially in the purple dusklight, but... _A building?_ He looks down at Epona, the horse gracelessly snoring on the dusty ground, in no condition for inspecting the curious structure. It can't be more than five or six miles away. _Well, I'll find out tomorrow. _He slumps back down beside his horse. He removes his equipment and lays them to his side, comfortably close, and lays his head against Epona's warm bulk. He falls asleep, and dreams of a deep forest he once called home, of a warm, optimistic green-haired girl, now rotting in her prison within the sacred realm.

* * *

He wakes a protesting Epona up a few hours before sunrise, and they eat a meager breakfast. It's much colder now, a pleasant change. He rounds Epona, and starts at a more vigorous pace toward the structures. He knows they are structures. He doesn't know how he knows, but he knows.

Closer now, he can see that the structures are indeed buildings, smaller than he had thought. Closer still, he can see a rough mud-brick wall surrounding the buildings, dissolving into the sand seamlessly. _A trade post, perhaps?_ Nearing an opening in the walls, he slows Epona down to a trot. He realises the place is abandoned, has been for some time. Run down and macabre, he sees not a single light of human presence, Hylian or otherwise. It does not matter. If there are buildings, they will likely be resources, especially if Link's theory is correct. And perhaps suitable shelter to bunk down for the night. His hopes fall when he enters the encampment. The buildings themselves remind him of the Gerudo fortress.

Constructed of mud-bricks like the walls, in square design, they were little more than huts. The ones that still stood. Whoever had been here had left a long time ago. An old well stands opposite a wall to Link's right, bone dry. Closer inspection reveals some remaining water, murky and shallow, deep within the bottom of the well. Enough to fill Link's bottles, maybe.

Hopefully.

* * *

That night, they take shelter within the most intact looking of the buildings. The inside is musty, dusty and thoroughly looted. He once again lay at Epona's side. She is resting quietly, enjoying the comfort of the building's protective walls blocking out the harsh desert winds. Link remains awake, troubled. He had searched the cluster of buildings for anything of use, finding little. A dusty rope, an old oil lamp, a few crumbling papers. Nothing unusual... Except tracks. Recent activity, perhaps within a few days. The only ones he can imagine traveling in this desert are bandits or desert-folk, Gerudos. Perhaps his imagination, silent for so long, has decided to sabotage his chance at a quiet night's sleep.

Soon, his natural oblivion overtakes him and he wanders to the realm of grey dreams. He leaves his sword hanging on his shoulder-holster. Just in case.

He hears the man before he enters the hut. Alerted to immediate wakefulness, he sinks into a shadowy corner, awaiting the intruder's arrival, sword in hand. Epona is out cold, the heat exhausted young horse unmindful of the danger.

_Good_, thinks Link. _A distraction_.

The stranger's shadow flickers across the dim room and Link lunges. _A man, taller than me. But not by much._He kicks the man hard in the small of the back. He screams, a shrill note piercing the silence, and crumples to the ground. A battered bronze dagger falls from his hand, clattering on the rocky floor. Link tucks his blade under the man's throat, silencing him quickly. The man's arm snakes toward his dagger. Link stomps on his outstretched hand. Another shrill scream shreds the night, and the man finally gives up. "_I kill ya fer da', me cul,_" he manages to hiss through gritted teeth. His accent is heavy and implacable, his voice shrill and reedy. Link responds by pressing the blade deeper into his grungy throat. A small pearl of blood escapes a lacerated pore, running down his neck in a thin scarlet river. "Speak your name, or lose your head." Not a hint of malice. Link is cold and precise. He relaxes the sword pressed against the man's throat, and he breathes a deep sigh of relief.

"I be Copparman, ye cul. I's a wanted man in five provinces! Soon's I git out o' dis 'ere grip ye be dead!" Blood is rushing to Copparman's temples. Anger? No, a play-up. An attempt at intimidation? _Fool._ "You forget who's holding the sword, Mr. Copparman." To reinforce the point, Link presses the sword into the man's soft throat-flesh once again. A second droplet rolls down his neck, joining the stained first at his collarbone. Sweat washes the blood away. Copparman's pungent sweat is rolling down Link's sword, soaking his grip.

"Wait."

Link reaches across the immobilized man toward Epona for the old rope. Through all the noise, the horse still slept soundly. After a moment's groping his hand finds it. "Your hands behind your back. Now." He complies, and Link ties his hands together. This done, he moves to the window and scans the skies. Dawn will arrive, and very soon. _Alright. _"Mr. Copparman." He is struggling against his bonds weakly, tension-exhausted. "Where is the nearest settlement? Answer." Copparman answers by spitting blood laced mucous on Link's boot. Not one for patience, he kicks Copparman in the ribs, hard enough to wind him but not hard enough to break any bones. He howls, gasping for air, hissing a torrent of profanity and threats. "Answer!"

He says nothing.

Link raises a threatening boot- "Okee, okee ye tricksy, cully barstard, leave me achin' sides alone! Nearest towns ter de west o' 'ere, little shithole called Crun, borda' o' de Tavar province, on de edge o' de desert. No' two revs from dis ol' camp." Revs? "How long will it take on foot? How much time?" Copparman's brow furrows, his eyes turning upward, his pale and discoloured tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. "Bou' half a day, mebbe les'." _Half a day of walking... About fifteen miles. So a 'rev' must be about seven miles. Good to know._ "Well, we're going there."

All the colour drains from his blotchy face.

"Wai', wai'! Let's us talk bou' dis, now! No need ter go 'ere." Sweat is pouring off the man's body now; his eyes are rolling in their sockets, bloodshot and terrified. "And why wouldn't I want to go there, Mr. Copparman?"

"Why, is nothin' but a haunt-town, is all. Nothin' 'ere but dust-toads and tumbleweed." Copparman, who had intended to rob and murder Link, would have done so without a second thought, is pleading for his life. _A bounty. High enough to be dead-or-alive... Perhaps this scum is worth something after all.

* * *

_

Link rides Epona at a trot, slow enough to allow Copparman to pace him, brisk enough to keep him occupied. He had allowed the man to have his hands tied at the front, to relieve some stress to his back muscles, making a second knot in the bindings to tie to Epona's saddle. In the early morning light, he gets a proper look at his captive outlaw. Outlaw indeed, in most aspects of the word. He's lanky, with scraggly brown hair and beard. His eyes are wild and primitive, his teeth filthy and rotten as his sunburned skin. He is wearing a sack cloth shirt and battered dungarees, with huge brown boots that look old as sin.

Link almost pities him.

Almost.

"C'mon no' mate, dear-'eart! Spare me life, and I's make ye a rich lad, so I does! Please!" The man simply wouldn't shut up, going between gibbering threats and begging for release. Link ignores him and rides on.

It's late day before they reach the town, though they could see the smoke from miles away.

He hears nothing but the wind blowing sand off the ancient dunes to his sides and Copparman's hoarse breathing. The bandit gave up the ghost a ways back, lapsing into a laboured silence. Twice they had stopped to rest since then, Link allowing Copparman a small share of his rations. Both times he wolfed the hard bread and jerky down without a word, and guzzled the offered waterskin like a man dying of thirst.

But seeing the town, his silence breaks. A deep breath flows through his mouth in a long, windy whistle. Then he begins to giggle. Soon his snickering turns to unabashed laughing. He rolls down on his stomach, erupting peals of insane, roaring laughter.

Link is in shock.

The town is walled, much like the previous camp, though much larger. The walls are taller, as well, but it makes no difference; there are massive, gaping holes throughout the perimeter. But that's the least of the damage. Many of the mud-brick buildings are in ruins, some teetering on the edge of collapse; purple smoke issues from many holes in their foundations. A horrible odour wafts on the breeze, the sickening, sweet smell of decay, chokingly strong. "Somethin' hit 'ese fucka's hard! Smells li'e nuttin bu' new death up in 'ere. No' wha', Mr. 'ero?" Link stirs Epona, not taking his eyes off the burning town. There are scorch marks everywhere, black and sulfurous, scars of a firefight not days ago. Epona herself seems transfixed by the devastation, making only halting advances toward the town. Link gives a hard tug on the rope connecting Copparman's bindings to Epona's saddle, effectively ending his maddening laughter. Now only a few hundred feet from the first building, the smell of decay is so strong it forces a gag out of Link, making him cover his nose with his dusty tunic. Copparman seems unaffected; he simply follows, with a gap-tooth grin too wide to be even remotely sane.

The sun under the town is blocked by the smoke clouds; the largest one is near the center, a deep, black body bulging like a tumour against the white sky. The sun is a beady white circle set in the covered sky, like a beast's malignant eye. The hard pan has resolved to a rough dirt road, and now Link can see drag-lines of blood, dried to a murky brown, to his left and right. Save for Link, Epona and Copparman, nothing moves. They are walking down a corridor street, with buildings to his left and right; most of the doors are kicked in or burned, and he sees multiple streaks of dried blood leading out from them down the road. Catching a brief glimpse of something unspeakable nailed to a half-broken door, Link forces himself to look the other way until he's sure it has been passed. "Oy, looks like summun's rottin babby's nail'd ter dis 'ere door! 'E musta pist summun off, uh, Mr. 'ero?" More bouts of maniacal laughter gutter from behind Link.

He halts Epona, turns to his left, convulses, and pules his lunch on the dry ground. He spits once, and reassures Epona back into a trot.

"Mr. 'ero feelin bi' under de wedder? Poor widdle cul-"

Link suddenly kicks Epona into a bolt run. Copparman's face turns slowly from hysteria to horror, almost comically, when he's yanked abruptly from his laughing gait onto the ground. His chest splashes in the congealing vomit-puddle briefly, then he is pulled through the dirt, screaming obscenities and curses.

Link stops for a moment, letting Copparman get up, amid mutterings of _culface_ and _assmeat_ under his breath, before easing Epona once again into a generous trot. Now the streaks are collecting into a series of long ropy lines, leading around a corner to his left. Link looks up toward the massive cloud plume, only a few dozen feet away now, then back down to the blood streaks. It dawns on him.

_No, no no.. not that.._

His heart is a wild bird, fluttering rapidly. He's shaking, though not enough for Copparman to notice. He steadies himself, and prods Epona onwards.

She moves with great reluctance toward the corner.

Copparman may act a dullard, but his wild intuition tells him of a change in his captor, a change for the worse. He himself is naught but curious, the place where he was caught and nearly executed reduced to ash, rubble and dried blood within the few days he was on the run for.

Epona's head pokes out past the side of the wall for only a moment, then withdraws immediately, coughing. Link dismounts, and walks stiffly to the corner. He steps out to the opposing dirt road, his face slightly illuminated by a dim light; the deep blue-black cloud above them chokes off the sun, leaving them in a strange twilight.

He sways, and comes crashing down on his knees.

Seeing an opportunity, Copparman sneaks out behind Link, intending to dash him in the back of the head with his boot heel. Coming out to the crossroad, he stops dead.

Bodies.

Everywhere.

_Burning._

A mountain of corpses towers above them both, the center of a bonfire. Burning pitches and shriveled faces greet them with oily black smears for eyes and skull-smiles. The ones on top are more intact. Horribly disfigured humanoids, their shrieks of pure agony still etched upon their blackened and blistered faces.


	3. Lorelei

Link and Copparman had found the entire town's population cooking in a massive bonfire, lit by Gods know who. After the initial shock wears off, Link stiffly leads Epona and Copparman the opposite direction of the smouldering body-pile. No words pass between them; the horrifying scene stilled Copparman's lolling tongue, both their faces portraits of a haunting. The walk is a blur for them both; that is, until they find the girl.

Copparman notices her first, huddled in a narrow alleyway between two crumbling houses.

Link had played the scene over and over again in his head, each time recalling a new face from the body-pile; in a deeper consciousness, he knows the shadow of those few moments will remain with him for a long time. "Oy, wussat?" Copparman's voice has lost all its edge. It trebles at the end of his sentence. Link's still adaze, but manages to reel his head around to the spot he was pointing at.

It looks like a piece of debris, and they could easily have passed it.

Except it's shivering.

With considerable effort, he pulls himself back to the present. Link releases Epona and steps gingerly toward it, trying to make as little sound as possible.

Though all quiet it is not. A small sound, the drawing, pitiful sound of a young child crying, can be heard, barely above the desert breeze. It's a dirty cloth quilt, much like Copparman's shirt, that creates a deceptively good hiding spot, fading into the shadows. Carefully, he reaches toward it, not knowing what to expect. He grabs the quilt and pulls. A blur shoots out, and pain explodes from Link's shoulder, his sword arm.

"Augh!"

He hits the ground hard enough to jar him, and looks up to a knife, dripping with his blood, pointing shakily at his nose. Then it drops. Hits the dirt hilt-up.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I thought you were one of them! I..." A little girl, maybe nine, stares down at him with big brown eyes filled with terror. She begins to cry. Link checks his left arm, trying to move it. It's aching dully from the knife wound, but flares in jagged spikes at the slightest motion. _Not good,_ thinks Link. _Not good at all._ Inspecting his left shoulder, he sees a red cloud slowly spreading on his tunic surrounding the wound.

_It's small, but deep-_

_Oh shit._

The kitchen knife that had sat plunged in the ground isn't there anymore. It's in Copparman's hand. But he isn't looking at Link. He's cutting the bonds to his horse, and his hands. Once freed, he did something Link didn't understand; he threw the knife back onto the ground. Another thing that bewildered him even more. He walks up to the little girl, kneels down to her level, and asks her name in a voice far softer than any he had heard from Copparman before then. He couldn't believe it; Copparman, who had erupted in mad laughter at the sight of this devastated town, had made a joke about the rotting infant nailed to a door, is comforting the little girl. _He's mad, the man's truly mad. Keese-shit insane, _thinks Link, _or with an ulterior motive. _

But he isn't whispering anything in her ear, or holding her hostage. He's simply there, with his hand on her small shoulder.

He doesn't look at Link, but his change of tone suggests him. "Dun' worry, culface. I's not gonn' kill ye, though tha's be'er den ye deserve. No' go on, dear 'eart." The young girl, calmer now, begins. "My name's Lorelei. I hid here when... When they came. I've been here ever since," she flashes Link a concerned glance, "but I'm fine. Now, at least." But a good look at her tells Link she's not fine; she's not emaciated, but certainly looks like she hasn't eaten in a good amount of time. She's still trembling, also, her head darting hither and thither in a fruitless search for danger. "But your friend, the one who pulled the blanket off me..."

"I'm fine, but you... You have one hell of a stab. Put my good arm out of commission for at least a few days." Link pushes himself back up, leaning against the wall. "So you're Lorelei, ah? My name's..." He almost laughs; he has to think of his name before saying it. "... It's Link. I haven't used it in a long time."

"Oy... Link, whert yeh ke'p yer watta?" Link points to the horse's saddle with his good hand, to the hide bags containing his four bottles, two of which still hold water. "Lorelei, can you throw me that knife over there?" For a moment, fear darts across her face, gone as quick as it came. Link pays no heed; she'll learn quick who to fear. But seeing Copparman act as he did just now, he's not so sure...

Nor is he sure of himself, either.

She moves quickly to the ground where the knife is and picks it up. _The hilt falls so naturally in her hands_, Link observes. _She's a fighter, this one. If I had been one of those that slaughtered this town, I'd be as good as dead right now. _That brings the next question, but not one he will pose now.

There will be much time for dialogue after they get out of the city, to the north. He feels that deep impulse, buried in his subconscious, calling from the north. It makes him think red thoughts, have red dreams.

Red, red... Something red...

Lorelei walks stiffly back up to Link, ready to flinch away at any sudden move. He extends his good hand slowly, deliberately, as not to frighten her. Grasping the offered hilt, he points to the quilt to his forward left. "Do you want to keep that?" She shakes her head. "Good. If you can hold that up for me, I'm going to cut a cloth strip off of it, to bind my shoulder." She complies, and holds the blanket gingerly, her eyes squinting shut. Gently, Link runs the knife up a section of the quilt, the seams parting with little persuasion. This done, he takes his shirt off (with extreme difficulty).

"Ye thirsty, lass? 'Ere, take summa dis. Ain't no mountain watta, but it'll do ya fine."

Pulling the tunic-shirt off the top of his head awkwardly, he sees Copparman hand Lorelei some water from one of the bottles, helping himself to some as well. She eagerly accepts, draining the bottle in one swig. "Thanks, mister, a lot!"

Copparman smiles. "Yar, worry no' bou' it. Call me Copparman." Something definitely changed in Copparman, and it unnerves Link.

His wound successfully bound, he slips his shirt back on. "Lorelei, you can ride Epona. Copparman... I'd like to have a discussion with you outside the city. Will you humour me?"

"Aye. Da desert done strange things ter a man, they does. Good an' bad."

"Thank you. Needless to say, you're free to go whenever you'd like."

The desert. _True, but not _the _truth. There's far more to this man than I thought. Could it have all been another play-up? And the girl... She's also different, which is probably why we found her._ But he pursues the matter no further; at least, not yet. The time will come when those questions will be answered, and their fates decided.

Lorelei looks at the horse with a mixture of questioning admiration and fear. Dirt and grime aside, the young girl is very cute, with a round face and a button nose. Her skin is a natural light brown, her hair a mass of dark curls cascading down her shoulders. She puts a foot gingerly into the stirrup and steps up into the horse's saddle. Epona, usually afraid of strangers, warms to the girl immediately.

_Probably reminds her of Malon. _Link reminisces briefly to that sweet red-haired girl, sitting on the fence in Lon Lon Ranch, singing her mother's melody into the fragrant night air.

They walk through the town's corridor-like dirt streets, strewn with rubble and streaks of blood, much like the street they came in through. Gradually, the light strengthens; the deep corpse-cloud is receding from their field of view.

The day is fading into purple and navy, the sun a crimson orb on the edge of the western horizon. Another sensation, one of being watched, settles upon the company. Link and Copparman feel it; they've felt it since leaving Crun. They camped a few miles north of the town's northernmost exit, building a small fire they are now huddled around. Deep to the north, veiled by the mist of distance, a gigantic mountain range pierces the sky, the base of the nearest perhaps seventy miles away.

"That's the Durnspine mountain range." Lorelei has come up beside Link, joining his view of the mountains. "I used to stand outside Crun just to see them." She has come a long way in the few hours they've known her; leaving the ill-fated town seems to have lifted a weight off her shoulders, though the shadows remain on her face. He smiles, the feeling unfamiliar on his face.

"Link, no's da time ter talk," says a voice from behind them. Copparman's voice drops to barely a whisper. "I's afear'd we may be dealin' with some spies soon. Keep yer sword about yeh."

Link turns, nods, and brings himself closer to the fire.

"Copparman, you've been acting very differently since we...Since we switched directions." He's remaining tactful; Lorelei doesn't need to know about the fate of the townsfolk. "Is it what you saw, or is it something else?" _Something else_, he already knows. _But what?_

Copparman's eyes are still wild, but the madness in them has passed. "Dere'ere a lo' o' little girls, look like youn' Lorelei 'ere, back o' da road. I's seent der faces. Somethin' I seent in me chilehood, way too much. It... It brough' me back ter me senses. Or wha's lef' of 'em." His eyes now show his depth of insight, hidden well by his lifestyle. Over the fire, the embers rising into the sky, he begins.


	4. Copparman

Fifteen long years before a fugitive known as Copparman escapes authorities and flees into the Kehit Desert, two orphans named Jochev and Margarite stand, alongside their uncle, Mr. Connigus, at the fresh graves of Marchetiv and Kalya Comanius.

Two weeks prior, they were murdered in their home, a senseless act of violence. Margarite slept through it all; Jochev hadn't.

He had stepped outside the bedroom they shared to grab a bottle of water from the shelf in their living room. He didn't notice the two mangled bodies at the front of the dark room, not yet.

His focus is on the bottle, glinting in the moonlight, when he sees two blurred, distorted shapes in its reflection. _Burglers_, he thinks. He turns to a macabre scene: Two things that roughly resemble human bodies are slumped upon the only piece of furniture in the house, a dusty old couch. The couch itself is covered in blood, dripping into small puddles on the stone floor. In front of the couch a sign was drawn in their blood; a dot within a circle, like a bullseye.

His heart is pounding.

His blood feels hot.

Too hot.

Seemingly seperate from his spirit, his body walks haggardly out into the pouring rain. Rain, as always, drowns the city of Balaverk; being south of the Skalspine Mountain range, locking out Kehit's boiling temperatures, the province of Verboten is prone to constant rainfall.

He stumbles down the cobblestone path, thinking nothing, the look of pure and utter shock never leaving his face.

* * *

"Well, children, it's time to go," says Mr. Connigus. His voice makes the children think of rusty hinges. His eyes move skyward. "They say the rain washes sin from the soul. Pray it's true, for your parents' sake." He takes their hands and walks briskly to his oaken carriage. "Now, hup." They 'hup' inside the carriage, daring not to say a single word. The tall man strides in after them, and closes the door with a wooden click. The ride to Connigus Manor is uneventful, the children watching rain come down against the glass windows in rivulets.

Though he called it a manor, the home of Mr Connigus is little different from what the Comanius children are used to; a roomy looking building, a mixture of desert and southwestern architecture.

After paying the carriage driver, Mr. Connigus leads the children up the porch. "First thing tomorrow, you're coming with me to the temple; my sister and her mongrel man are rotting in the abyss now, and I don't intend to have you two join them there."

Their staying with their uncle, Mr. Connigus (he insisted upon being called 'Mr.' by everyone, including Jochev and Margarite), was a defining moment in their life. Their parents weren't perfect; life was hard, and they often didn't have time for their children. But love them they did, with all their hearts. Eleven year old Jochev, senior of Margarite by five years, had to be the rock in this case, as Margarite was still too young to understand fully what had happened. But Mr. Connigus, though the brother of their mother, seemed such an opposite of her. The man was cold, professional, and often quite cruel.

Professional, at least, until it came to a question of faith.

Quentonian faith, belief in the man Heyesa as son of the All-One, could send the man into a frenzy that not alcohol nor any substance could ever accomplish. Such were the children subject to, as they were forced to attend Quentonian mass with their uncle every Sunday.

Years later, Jochev could remember little but one day in the temple: The day the bishop came.

The man's robe was all red, quite plain. Except for one symbol, on the chest of his tabard. A circle with a dot in the center, bone white.

He felt that similar blood-heat, as he did on the day of discovering his parents, wash over him. He wanted to jump on the man, ask him where that symbol had come from, if he had anything to do with the murder of his parents. But doing so would ensure he would leave the church broken, bleeding, and answerless. So, keeping his tongue and boiling within his simple garb, he remains quiet as the man passes the pew, blessing the templegoers. His hand briefly touched Jochev's forehead, and red violence flared up within him. As if sensing this, the bishop moved quickly across the next few templegoers beside him until he was a reasonable distance away.

After communion, the boy walked briskly beside his uncle, pacing him. "Mr. Connigus, who was that man back there? In the red robe?"

"The bishop of our particular sect, boy. And you do best to respect him." Cold malice hinted within his voice.

Mr. Connigus had seen something, and Jochev was in for a beating when they made it home.

As always, he wasn't disappointed. Sporting a black eye and bloody nose, he lay in his upstairs bedroom with no dinner, when his sister walked in, and sat down on the bed beside her brother. "Tha' man in da red robe, he scared me. I dunno why, bu' he did," says Margarite, lapsing into her old common-Balaverk accent, one that Mr. Connigus would not permit in his presence. "Aye. Margey, did I eva' tell ye about wha' happened to ma' and da'? Like, wha' I seen?" She shook her head vehemently, so Jochev went on.

"Well, beside... Beside 'ere dey were, a circle wus drawn, like da man in da red robe's. 'At must mean somethin', I jus' dunno wha'." He lowered his voice to little more than a whisper, despite no one but them in the room. "I's thinkin dey mighta had sommat ter do wit' wha' happened."

Margarite's eyes were wide blue circles, framed by dusty blonde locks.

"Ya think?"

He didn't answer, simply looked upward at the slate-wood ceiling, thinking.

For the next five years, Jochev and Margarite grew well, despite their conditions. Mr. Connigus became increasingly violent and ill-tempered with Jochev, who grew more rebellious in turn.

Eventually Mr. Connigus didn't even bother bringing Jochev to communion, leaving the youth to his own devices. He used this time to penetrate the back-streets of Balaverk, as well as the libraries, to find out about the strange symbol he had seen on the bishop's tabard, all those years back. That day had never left him, and he deemed himself old enough to take care of himself in the big, rainy city. He had also taken to watching the temple for activity.

It was all fruitless, until the night he spotted his uncle, in similar garb to that old bishop from years agone.

He was headed back to the manor, wet and exhausted, when he heard a bitterly familiar voice from around the corner, followed by a less familiar one. He backs himself against a doorframe, waiting.

"... And may the Clan bless ye, brother, as well. But what of your whore sister's children? Do ye think they are following, or should we take... More drastic measures to assure the safety of the Brotherhood?"

The rusty-hinge voice responds. "Well, I tried as I could to save the poor souls, but now it's in the All-One's hands. The problem is not the girl, though. It's the boy," he says, through gritted teeth. "The boy has been increasingly defiant of me, Heyesa knows why. But also incredibly curious." Mr. Connigus takes a deep breath. "This is why I've returned to the Clan. I think he may be onto us, Brannigan. Onto the Clan's cleansing of his parents."

Hot blood explodes into his temples. It's dripping from his clenched fists, the nails piercing the skin.

"Who gave the order, Connigus? To terminate them?"

"Someone high up, I know not who. Nor do I know why. Alas, they were heathens, so they were damned anyways," says Connigus, in a _shrug, that's life_ tone.

Feverish eyes scan the ground. He spots a small shard of glass lying next to a wall. He grabs it, quietly, as the voices near him.

Torchlight glows to his right as they turn the corner.

He sees a momentary flash of his uncle, in his red robe with the strange bullseye on it.

He decides that as his target, and stabs his uncle right in the heart. Both his uncle and the fat, balding man in similar garb to his right are simply too shocked to say a word. Suddenly, the fat man draws a deep breath of air, likely to holler for a help. He pulls the glass shard out of Connigus's chest and slashes the fat man's throat with it. Nothing but a choked garble arises from him now. A fountain of blood shoots out of his mouth and he hits the ground hard. So does his uncle. Jochev grabs the torch and runs quickly to his house, to rouse Margarite.

He finds her snoozing in her room, and shakes her awake, violently. "Hnnhh..."

"Wake up! We ha' ter go, no'!" She slowly awakens, and looks into her brothers eyes. What she sees scares her. "Wha' happened?"

"Connigus's dead. No time ter explain, c'mon!"

Her eyes widen with shock. She turns her head, slowly, left to right.

"No."

"Wha'? Listen, he killt our ma' and da'!"

"You killt him, den? Ye be a wanted man no', if I go I'll be next!"

He hears a commotion outside, down the road.

"Fine, if ye wants ter stay, stay!"

He leaves through the back door, ditching the torch.

* * *

Within a week, a death warrant was placed on Jochev Comanius, for the murders of Marcello Brannigan and Yusuf Connigus. His sister had admitted his crime to the authorities, and was placed in protective custody. She went to the familiar Quentonian Temple one day, to pray for forgiveness, and was never seen again. The monks denied her ever coming to the temple.

But all that concerns not Jochev. He is now a fugitive, under the alias of Copparman, fleeing northwest from Verboten law and the mysterious Clan, both seeking his blood.

For the next 10 years, he drifts from province to province, with the Clan always close on his tail. He sees many things, suffers many pains. He grows wild with the passing years, and when he is found in Tavar, by the small town of Crun, he looks to be little more than a common bandit.

It is only the dagger hidden in his pants that saves him. Hands behind his back, he manages to fish the dagger out of his pants and cuts his bonds. Assuring his grip on the dagger, he slashes the guard holding him hostage, wounding him. Running half-assed into the desert, he glances back to see what looks like a dark red mist descend on the city. He thinks nothing of it, and sprints onward into the blooming darkness of new night.


	5. Onward

By the time Copparman had finished his story, the night had progressed greatly. Tinctures of dawn began to rim the deep eastern edge of the desert, just above the distant treeline. Lorelei lay, sound asleep, beside Epona, also asleep. He himself drew his knees up to his chest, lost in the story, a habit he could never break. When Copparman's silence becomes apparent, Link finally responds. "Verboten. South of the desert, correct?"

"Aye."

"And this Brotherhood, this strange religion, could they still be after you?" Copparman pauses.

"I's possible, I dunna why ey'd still be interst'd in me though. But," Copparman leans in, "I remember 'earin' say tha' bou' two r' three year agone, da provinces south o' da desert suffer'd a collapse o' governing, so I hears. 'Ey brough' back da ol' way o' doin' things, wit' da church on top an' everyone else under 'em." An idea is weaving in Link's mind, the fabric entwining within each other, annoyingly slow.

"Do you know of anything else concerning the Brotherhood? Like, anything about their actual faith?" Copparman cocks a skeptical eye. "You intendin' on signin' up, no'? Why would I kno' anythin' bout da religion tryin' so 'ard ter kill me?" Link relents, but Copparman continues. "'Owever, I ken tell ye bout da religion me dear ol' uncle tried ter push on me, if da' intrest's ye."

Link nods. _Red robes... It cannot be a coincidence._

"Well, barsickly, ye 'ave belief in da All-One, and 'is sonny, Hayseus. I dunno 'o he is, some prick garn came down many years agone and founded da religion. Anyhoo, 'fore da All-One left us an' Heyesa ter our own devices, 'e left some sacred door on da roof o' da world. Da monks called it 'Da Crimson Gate', is supposed ter bring ye to some sorta 'Ultimate Universe'. Ferbidden ter us 'ere mortals, see, it rests only fer dose worthy o' da master realm. Person walkin' through dere suppos'd ter get power o' da All-One, but only ter change a single thing, see?"

_A stretch... But maybe... _"Perhaps this Brotherhood is searching for that Gate?"

Copparman's eyes narrow in thought. "Mayhap yeh're onter summat, 'ere; barstards're bou' crazy enough ter look fer summat ou' o' myth. But 'ere's no way a 'Crimson Gate' really exists."

He doesn't sound too confident.

"By de way, yeh kno' back in da city?"

"Yes."

"Well, dat babby nailed ter de door, tha' wuddn't no human babby; t'was but a hairless calf o' some beast o' burden. I... Well, I's figured yeh'd lose yer nerve an' ride off, see. Wuddn't thinkin' too clear, mind yeh, still ain't. But, I just wanted to mention, y'know..." Link raises his hand.

"Don't worry about it. If what you say is true, you've been living outside humans, on the run, for a good long time. I can appreciate that." Copparman's eyes meet Link's, and an understanding passes between them. "Thankee, mate. Thankee big."

Link remembers why they rushed the palaver in the first place; "Copparman, what about those spies? I no longer feel them."

"I's no' sure, ter be truthin'. I dinna think ey're actually 'ere; rather, summa wus watchin us, somehow. An' carefully, too." Copparman's eyes darken. "Forms o' black magic, mayhap. Keep yer sword close a' all times. Keep youn' Lorelei, 'ere," he gestures to the girl, quietly snoozing on the hardpan, "closer."

Link nods. Turning, he lifts his gaze to the sky, allowing his eyes to shift between the two moons. One is white, and drifts to the eastern horizon, eerily similar to the moon of Hyrule. The other moon, the smaller of the two, is red as rust. As if he didn't know, it hung fixated to the north.

Snoring issues from behind him; Copparman, exhausted, dropped like a stone.

Link knows he won't get any sleep tonight; the wound in his arm stopped throbbing, but the sight of the corpse-mountain still bleeds fresh from behind his eyes. Putting such horrors past him was the way he lived. At least, in the face of duty... But now? The Red, this Crimson Gate perhaps, calls him to the north. For what?

The devastation of Crun is terrible, but the only clue in the matter is the red mist. Did it descend to find and kill Copparman? Why would he be so important?

_Mysteries, mysteries._

The Red is all tied, perhaps to a single entity. Maybe two. This Crimson Gate, be it literal or some sort of metaphor, has to be one hub of power. And the red mist, the Krieg-Clan Brotherhood, maybe they represent another hub of power.

_Good and evil, like always._

Well, at any rate, those that massacred Crun have yet to show themselves to him. Besides, they haven't heard Lorelei's story yet. Perhaps she can shed some light on what happened to the town.

He feels his thoughts begin to slip, running like water. They reform in a shape he knows well. A youthful body, eternally so, flowing through, smoothing and softening his mind like oil. He falls into a shallow sleep, dreaming of her hair, her mind, her spirit.

Green.

But wait... Her green brightens, changes, warming.

Yellow?

The yellow burns, heated by an unseen force. He feels the heat against his face, scraping warm needles into his eyes.

Orange...

The heat is almost unbearable now, scalding and burning his face. He knows that it will kill him, but he cannot look away.

Red.

He feels the skin on his face peel away in strips of burning flesh, he can smell the cooking meat. His eyes are melting, running down his boiling cheeks in pale rivers. He tries to scream, but his tongue is reduced to nothing but a shriveled black stick.

_A demon pursues the Gate. You must destroy it._

**Awaken.**

Link awakens, screaming into the early morning desert twilight. The sound makes Epona jump up in fright, knocking Lorelei. She also wakes up, shouting in surprise and pain, rubbing the spot on the back of her head that Epona had bumped.

"Good morning, Mr. Link," Lorelei, oblivious to Link's condition in her groggy state, calms the horse down. Epona settles beside the girl as soon as her hands touch her flank.

Link's soaked in sweat, panting heavily. His knife-wound is burning, protesting the salty liquid soaking into it. Crunching of sand to his right tells Link where Copparman is. Rushing up to them, panting, he asks what all the commotion was about.

"Nothing. Just woke up strange, and it caught Epona off-guard."

Copparman gives link another skeptical look. "Yeh, okay den," Copparman turns to smother the last dying embers of the fire with sand. "With ye, ye look nobbut older 'an fourteen, mayb' fifteen. But yer eyes say differn't, yessir. Who are ye, fer real?" He turns, favouring Link a more curious glance, before returning to shoveling sand on the embers with his hands.

Link scans the skyline; dawn is very close, but not quite on the horizon. Due to their proximity to the desert's western edge, some trees dot the sand; mostly variations of palm and cactus, some of which they used to build their fire.

"That's a story for another time. It's a long one," Link looks back to Copparman, "and not a particularily happy one."

"One I thinks we could both use a li'l enlightinin' of." Copparman's tone is straight, his eyes serious. "Yeh're like an ol' man, y'know, in a lot o' ways. No' meanin' ter offend, o'course."

Link's eyes grow distant. "None taken."

Both of them remain silent.

Link looks away, toward the jagged peaks of the Durnspine.

_**A demon pursues the Gate.**_What kind of demon? Link immediately thinks of someone like Ganondorf, merciless and powerful. But he was still a man, no matter how much evil he commited.

Demon? What kind of creature can that be? Whatever this creature must be, it is a force that threatens this land, a land somehow greater and more fragile than Hyrule. Certainly larger, at least.

_**You must destroy it.**_ _Great_, thinks Link. _Another quest._ As if he hadn't lost enough, ridding Hyrule of evil. But, as always, he is bound by the cutting chains of duty. The nightmare he had, that was a premonition. The magic of this land, distant but far more powerful than any he had felt previous, calls for the aid of a hero; he left Hyrule with the intent of escape, simple and clear.

Yet, this power, this Red, could it have guided him the entire time? Subtly influencing him, growing stronger with each step closer to the source?

Link bothers with introspection no more. It's a road that will lead him to madness, nothing more. Gods screw whatever brought him here. He is here now, with a former outlaw and a young girl still hidden in mystery.

"Time to move. Let's get ready, and continue northward. And Copparman," he raises his head in acknowledgement, to which Link holds out Lorelei's knife, hilt first. "The journey we're on will span across much more than just escaping this blasted desert. The Brotherhood will be our greatest enemy, I fear. And if you say true, and the south has fallen to the church, they will be many more times than I can likely handle. Will you join me, even if it endangers your life?"

He lifts his hand toward the knife.

Hesitates, only a moment, before grasping it firmly. "Aye. I ain't gots much direction in me life, bu' one thing be clear ter me: Whoever ordered de attack on me family, I's gointer make sure dey pay."

Link's eyes shine, if only for a fleeting second, as he turns to resaddle Epona.

_Vengeance may be a curse in itself, but it's a driving goal. I should know._

"Lorelei. Are you ready?" She turns to him and nods, but halts when she sees his expression, understanding his meaning. "Yes, I'm ready. Tonight, I'll share my story."

Link gives her a curt nod.

She saddles Epona, and they start their trek.

Come nighttime, they sat once again in a circle, surrounding the fire. Link thought he could see whispers of red mist, far behind them, in the last moments of dusk's fading light. He checks their food and water supplies; food is low, but they can use cactuses for nourishment, as disgusting as they may taste. He already had to tap a cactus to replenish their water supply, filling two bottles with the sticky, tangy liquid.

For a long time, they simply said nothing, looking into the crackling flame.

Then Lorelei spoke up. "I've lived all my life in Crun. I don't really remember living anywhere else, but I must have; because I had a mother, and we were in a much greener place. Then she was gone, and I was in Crun." Her eyes are translucent orbs hovering above the fire, the deep glow reflected in each. "They say Crun isn't no place for little girls, but I managed. I had to do a lot of bad things, like stealing food, and... other stuff. But I managed." She is getting teary-eyed again, channelling sad memories. But Link sees past the child in her; she's defiant of sorrow, much like he was. The thought brings a wispy smile to his face, too small to be noticed. "But things all changed when the red-guys came. It all happened so fast: This misty stuff from the sky drifted onto the ground. Most people were curious, but I had a bad feeling, and I learned to trust my bad feelings. I was helping wash dishes in a kitchen for some rupees, so I took a knife and ran outside to my blanket, where I sleep. I crouched into an alleyway and pulled the blanket over me. A few minutes later, I heard the first screams. I heard chopping sounds, like when you chew a hard piece of meat, and yells and howls afterward. I heard people screaming as they were dragged by my alleyway, distant explosions, and the crackling of big fire." She's shivering again, despite the fire-heat licking her body.

"I peeked once. I saw a big man in a red dress, a... a robe? Yes, and he had a big shield, bigger than yours, Mr. Link. A bigger sword, too. But he had them put away. He was dragging... dragging someone who... a big blood line in the dirt..." Link nods. "Pardon me, Lorelei. Copparman?" Copparman shakes himself, entranced by the young girl's story. "Aye?"

"Does that sound familiar? Red robe?" Copparman's brow furrows momentarily.

"Did 'e 'appen ter 'ave a circle wit' a dot in de middle, like in me story?" Lorelei's eyes waver between Link and Copparman, struggling with her memory. "Not sure, I tucked my head back in

as soon as I seen him. But there was something on his chest, I think," Lorelei shrugs apologetically.

"That's proof enough for me. But why would they be so relentless in pursuing you?" Copparman gives Link a blank look.

"I dinna', mate, eitherwise i'd say ye. Bu' mebbe de same feller done put de hit on me family wants ter finish de job?"

"Did your parents do anything to offend these people? And why wouldn't they have murdered you and your sister as well as your parents?" Copperman frowns for a moment, in concentration.

"No' da' I be aware of. Dey 'ere commoners, one o' da main reasons no one looked inter de'r murders much. As fer no' killin' meself and me sissa," he simply shrugs, "I dinna'."

Link lays down, resting his sore back.

"Well, one thing is assured: The Brotherhood wants you dead, Copparman. We'll have to post watches from now on, you and I," Copparman nods. "I'll take the first shift. I'll wake you up, and you replace me. Sound good?"

"Aye."

A small voice comes from Link's left. "What about me, Mr. Link?" Link pushes himself up carefully with his right hand, and looks at the small girl. Her mouth is a set line, not smiling nor frowning.

"You want to keep watch as well?" _Hmm... Perhaps I can test this girl yet._

"Well, you guys got me out of the town, right? I owe you all my life, probably. I want to help keep watch, maybe in your place, Mr. Link." Guilt laces her face once more, her eyes on Link's shoulder wound.

Silence, for a moment; the look on Lorelei's face returns once more to stubbornness.

Link looks her in the eye. She stares right back.

"Okay," he unstraps the Kokiri sword and throws it to her. She catches it in the air, and he lays down, resting that sore back. On her face is a look of frozen shock, wide eyes staring down at the ancient Kokiri relic.

"Uh, Link? Whu'ere ye doin'?"

Link turns to Copparman, wearing a bewildered look.

"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing." Link spares him a small wink, turns around, and feigns sleep.

He rises quietly as soon as he hears Copparman's heavy snoring. The moons are high, the fire reduced to smouldering cinders. He hears wet smacking sounds a short distance away, just as he thought he would. He gets up too quickly, slipping on his wounded arm and falling in a crumple, cursing under his breath. His cut breaks open again and blood begins to soak through his makeshift bandage. Copparman grunts in his sleep and turns over, moonlight spilling onto his rough beard and hair. Getting up more slowly, he makes his way toward the sound.

A few dozen yards from the campsite, Lorelei is dancing to and fro with the Kokiri sword, slashing deep cuts and gashes into a group of unfortunate cactuses, their juices flowing in a puddle around her.

For awhile, Link just sits in the sand, watching her.

Left spin, cutting the tops of the cactuses off cleanly, flying like severed heads into the dirt.

Stab, strong enough to punch a clear hole through the closest one to her.

Horizontal slash, slicing off a thick arm of the cactus, clear liquid spurting like blood from the stump.

She works furiously until she can do no more but fall into the now-deep puddle of cactus juice, panting violently.

She freezes much like she did earlier when she lays eyes on Link.

"Mr. Link! I, uh..."

Link only smiles.

"You're good, as good as I was when I was your age. Maybe better," Link walks over to the gored cactuses, inspecting the jagged cuts and holes, "but not without some training." Her eyes are now walls of glass, reflecting the two moons in the distant sky. Link raises his right hand for the small blade, Lorelei nearly dropping it in the sand giving it to him.

"Stand back."

She complies, standing a good number of yards back from Link and the cactuses.

He drops into his familiar stance, slightly akward from the change in hand of the sword, and channels energy into it. It swells a familiar blue aura around it, growing to a jupiterian orange storm.

"Hyeaah!"

He spins like a tornado, the energy erupting from the Kokiri sword in a widening arc of magically charged winds. Everything within four yards is torn to shreds, the sand itself blasting in all directions around him.

Dust is everywhere, obscuring Lorelei's view of Link.

The dust settles, cactus parts strewn everywhere.

No Link.

An awestruck moment of blankness, followed by a quick look around the area; a huge circle of hardpan is revealed around where Link attacked, sand piled in a ring rimming the hardpan circle, the cactuses once standing near it torn to shreds and pieces.

"You have to be faster than that, kiddo," issues a voice from behind her. She jumps and spins around to face Link, holding the Kokiri sword hilt-first, to her. She grasps the handle firmly, her

eyes not leaving Link.

His eyes scan the sky; the white moon is on the edge of the western horizon, the red one not too far behind.

"We'll go wake Copparman, it's about time for his shift. We'll do a bit more practice with the Kokiri sword on the way out of the desert, if we can. Get some sleep," Link gives her another glance before he starts making his way up the sandy slope. "You'll need it."

Rousing a grumpy Copparman, Link slumps against his shield and dreams of Hyrule, tainted by the slightest grey of distant memory.


	6. Osov

It's been six days since Lorelei began to practice with Link's sword, and, like Link, she's shown unusually rapid progression. Copparman watched some of these displays with quiet approval, taking in what little he didn't already know.

Her progress is good, yes, but Link is worried. For the past six days, the red mist following their trail has been edging closer and closer, following their campsites earlier and earlier in the day.

_She'll have a taste of real battle soon; I'll take the reins for whatever fight these mist-people wage, and she can decide whether she wants to continue training afterword. Assuming, of course, we survive._

As if the approaching danger of the red mist wasn't troubling enough, their supplies are once again nearing depletion; the cactus water, though distasteful and sour, held them through the week, but the desert has once again thickened into a vast sandstretch with no visible life, cactus or otherwise. As Link had feared, they had to eat cooked cactus when his jerky was gone, but only a few pieces of that remain.

_Three days, if we're lucky._

The Durnspine mountains are looming giants in the sky now, still distant but much clearer than before.

Eventually the heat and conservation of resources drives the group to silence. Lorelei stops practicing for now, saving her energy for the increasingly arduous journey to the north.

It is on the last of Link's three predicted days that the Mist Warriors choose to attack.

* * *

Parched and hungry, they shuffle on in dry silence, nearing the end of the day. They are almost at the base of the mountains, and they can see rising smoke in the distance.

Link notices the mist descending from the orange sky first; he shouts to Copparman and Lorelei, drawing his sword with his right.

They wait.

The mist falls around them.

Figures, undecipherable in the red fog, emerge.

Two.

Four.

Eight... Ten.

Suddenly, as if blown by a heavy breeze, the mist flows away and dissapates. Surrounding them in a wide half-circle, ten hooded, robed men wielding sword and shield stand. A bone-white circle tabard, with a dot marking in the circle's center, is the only feature on the robes they wear. In front of Epona and Lorelei, Copparman and Link tense, awaiting the battlerush. Lorelei clutches Epona's neck, terrified. "Mr. Link, Mr. Link... That's them, the ones who attacked Crun..."

One man near the center steps forward, brandishing a longsword at Link. "You. Hero of Time. We've been watching you."

_Hero of Time? They know who I am?_

But Link says nothing, dropping into a defensive stance. These people are the last ones he'll show any sense of surprise to.

The man is undeterred. "We are emmisaries of the God-King Burlington. His Mightiness sent us to collect you, so He may speak to you; we recommend you come with us."

One long moment passes, dusty wind blowing Link's hair and sweat across his face.

The man steps back alongside his fellows. "So be it, Hero of Time. You need not legs for the travel."

Suddenly, they charge, roaring unidentifiable words, as if possessed by psychotic rage.

Ironically, the first one to attack Link leaves his legs open; Link ducks his blow and cuts them off at the knees, forcing the man backward into the attacker behind him. Link slashes to his side in quick arcs; the first two are deflected by one of the soldiers, but the third hits home, cutting the man from his throat to his chest, covering Link with spurting blood. He brings the sword back to his center, catching the just-recovered soldier behind the first one by the neck, slitting his throat wide open. Another to Link's left manages to break past his parrying defence, landing a deep blow to Link's leg, forcing him back.

Copparman is fighting like a wild-man, ending the lives of two robed warriors at once with his simple kitchen knife; he kicked one of the soldiers square in the chest, knocking him into his allies. He then catches the soldier behind him by surprise, plunging his knife into the man's chest. Pulling it out, he drops onto the first soldier, slicing his throat, before a shield bashes him in the face, knocking him sprawling.

Link drags himself to Copparman's aid, fighting off the attackers with increasing strain. He realises that Epona and Lorelei are no longer near them, nor were they when they charged...

... At that exact moment, Lorelei charges Epona into the horde mobbing Link and Copparman.

Link sees a blade swipe in from his right, too quick to parry, and feels the impact hit his ribs, though only glancing. Link needn't wonder why; Epona tramples the man before he can drive the blade deep enough to cause any serious damage, knocking down two others with them as Epona charges onward. Epona's attack gives enough of a distraction for Link; he takes a furious offensive, arcing his blade toward one of the stunned men. He catches him on the nape of the neck, slicing his throat vertically and sending him flying backward.

Copparman is up again, and so are the remaining four soldiers. They redouble their attack, seemingly unaware of the losses they suffered. Link, seeing Epona in the corner of his vision preparing for another charge, yells for Copparman to give ground, doing the same. Copparman gets the cue and falls back with him, parrying and dodging attacks the marauders throw at them. Epona shoots toward them again, catching two of them off-guard. As they roll into the dirt, one of the remaining two strikes out at the horse, slicing into one of her thighs deeply. The horse gives a cry of pain, and tumbles violently to the ground. Seeing this, both Link and Copparman retaliate furiously; Copparman slices Epona's attacker's hand off, finishing the job with a stab through the eyesocket out the back of his head. Link kicks the raised shield of the soldier directly beside him, forcing him backward, losing his balance. Link pushes through the man's compromised defence and rams his sword through the bottom of his chin, pushing it up out the top of his head.

The last two, recovering from Epona's second charge, rush back toward Copparman and Link. Exhausted as they are, the two can do little but rebound the relentless assaults made by the soldiers. Copparman is struck through the leg, letting out a howl of pain.

Link takes a heavy blow to his back, deflected by his shield, but strong enough to shoot pain through his spine. He manages to stab the attacker in his sword arm. Wrenching his blade

sideways, he tears a gaping hole in the man's forearm. Before he can scream in agony, Link lops the man's head off.

Copparman fares no better; brought to his knees by the blinding pain in his lower leg, the man swings his large blade in a wide arc, planning on beheading him. Copparman ducks, the blade

missing him by millimeters. He brings his knife up with both hands, embedding it in the man's abdomen. He pulls, and hot gore explodes out of the soldier's belly. He screams, crumbling to the

ground.

Link and Copparman have only enough time to look at Lorelei, unconscious and pinned by Epona's weight, and each other, covered in the blood of their enemies and themselves, before

blackness takes them both.

* * *

Drift.

Dream.

Green.

The world swims in fluid, fading and growing and fading and growing. Hazy clouds move around him as his blood drains. One forms into a shape he recognises well. He feels water being drawn across his face and his wounds, warm and soothing. The grain burning his vision slowly fades, and he regains rough grounding on reality.

He almost loses it again when he sees who's tending him.

_Saria!_

But the image boils, reforms.

No, not Saria, but close in resemblance; the girl's hair is cut short at her jawline, mousy brown, with skin a shade lighter than Lorelei's. Her eyes, large and expressive, are narrowed in concern over Link, a soft shade of light brown.

"You're awake; welcome back."

Link's good arm darts to his head, a dull ache hammering inside.

"Wh... Where am I?" He refocuses on the girl. Older than him, but not by much; slender and athletic, she looks to be as tall as Link himself. Seeing him awake, the girl smiles.

"You're in Osov, stranger, a mountain town on the border of Burzia. And lucky to be alive too, I might add."

"My friends?" Link tries to get up, but the girl pushes him back down.

"You stay there, you're in no shape to be running around," she responds with sternness that reminds him of Malon, helping him recover after each temple raid. "Your friends are fine, for the most part; no worse than you are right now, anyways. But you've lost a lot of blood; you nearly died on the way back here. What's your name?"

Link looks around. A room, a small one, modestly decorated but well looked-after, with a dresser and the bed he lay on. The girl sat on his bed, well dressed in light leather and cotton, watching him. A wooden bowl lay on her lap, half filled with water, a cloth lying inside.

"It's Link." He shifts uncomfortably under the girl's gaze, the boy in him still shy of such attention.

"Well, Link, I'm Alyssa," she flashes Link another sunny smile. "My father's scouts found you and your friends half a day into the desert, and brought you here."

The dull pain in his head spikes, forcing a gasp and a wince from Link; memories of the fight come rushing back in a flurry of violence and gore. Alyssa tips her head to the side, wearing that Malon-ish look of concern again. "You alright?"

Link shakes his head slightly, and looks up into Alyssa's eyes.

"Headache." He lays back on the soft down pillow, feeling his sore head sink into it.

"I'm going to go check on your friends. Try to get some rest, okay?"

Link doesn't look up, feeling the exhaustion roll around his body; he gives the girl a weary thumbs-up with his good hand.

As soon as he hears the door shut, he lifts himself slowly from the pillow to a sitting position on the bed, revealing a myriad of bandages covering his chest and abdomen. His tunic and hat are off, as well as his sword and shield; he scans the room more thoroughly, finding them beside the bed, his tunic folded neatly atop his shield, his hat on top of the tunic, his sword leaning on the bed to the right of them.

How did they know he was the Hero of Time? And this God-King, what was his name? Burlington, yes. He wanted to 'speak' with Link, sending a mob of bloodthirsty neophytes, wearing the same clothing of those that ransacked the town of Crun, to 'collect' him? This Clan wants _him_, not Copparman.

_It would have to be someone with foresight like Zelda had, to know who I was. Could it be this 'demon' is connected to the Clan, maybe even controlling it? Possibly this demon is the God-King himself. That would make sense; a violent clan of zealots being influenced by evil. Something I've seen before. But, perhaps, on a scale I haven't seen, if Copparman's right._

And now, Link sits in some mountain village, rescued by this young girl Alyssa's father, whomever that may be. One thing is for certain; he has to leave this town as soon as possible. Those soldiers, they weren't well trained at all; definitely not of those that decimated a town and left within a matter of days. _This 'God-King', I don't understand his tactics... Wiping out a whole town for gods know why, yet sending those idiots to die by our hands? It makes no sense..._

Link sighs, wincing at the pain in his side from such a deep breath. _Well, we'll have to stay here for a few days to recover, there's no getting around that._

He lifts himself up off the bed with great difficulty. Slowly and painfully he slips his tunic on, equips his gear, and motions to the door. His step is too wide; pain flares through his spine, hitting a bell at the top of his head. Cursing, nearly falling, he manages to hug the doorframe for support.

A narrow corridor extends to his right, ending at the wall immediately to his left. Opposite him is another door, halfway ajar. Talking emanates from the room; a lithe, quiet voice and a lower, huskier voice. More carefully, Link makes it across the corridor and walks in.

Lorelei and Copparman are sitting on their respective beds, chatting. They look up to a heavily bandaged Link, fully dressed.

"Well, yeh're up den? Bou' bleedin' time, mate," says Copparman. "We've been 'ere two days already, wai'in for ye to wake up." Copparman is cleaned up, as well as bandaged; his hair and beard have been trimmed to a respectable length, his body clean for the first time since they met. He could almost pass for a respectable, in the right wardrobe, if it wasn't for his accumulation of scars. Lorelei, on the other hand, changed little; Epona's crash knocked her out and caused bruising, but little else.

_Epona. "_Copparman, is my horse okay?"

Copparman looks to Lorelei; her eyes darken. "I was awake when the scouts came and took us. Epona had lost a lot of blood, the cut on her leg was a deep one." Link feels the lightning pangs of dread rupturing his sight with sparking orbs. _Couldn't be... Not Epona... _"Mr. Link, they tried everything they could, but she just lost too much blood. She's out back in the barn, the villagers wanted to wait until you were awake."

At that, Link turns on his heels and bolts out of the room. "Mr. Link? Mr. Link!" But Lorelei's shouts echo not in his weary mind, reeling from yet another loss. He tears down the stairs at the end of the hallway, ignoring the screaming pain in his body, rushing for the exit. A flurry of distorted rooms and faces fly by him, but he doesn't care; he needs to see Epona, his friend and companion, for better or worse. He storms outside, head turning left and right. A stable and barn is a ways away to the left, and he takes off for it.

He is greeted by a startled Alyssa and a stablehand. Against his will, his mind shifts momentarily to take a good look at her; as he thought, Alyssa is about Link's height, quite beautiful against the torchlight. Shaking himself from the moment, he struggles to control his voice. "Where is my horse?" In her face burns a familiar anger that would terrify most men, another resemblance to Malon. "What are you doing? You were an inch from dying only a day ago!" Link, still numb, reiterates his question, as if she didn't hear him. Alyssa sighs, her eyes shifting to the dark stall to her side. "She was a fighter, the poor thing," her eyes dart back to Link, blazing. "But now's not the time for that. What did I tell you? Your wounds have broken open again!" Surely enough, bloody roses begin to bloom on his cleaned tunic. At that moment, his body strikes back at his idiocy with a vengeance. Pain erupts from every part of his body in a wave of shredding agony. He collapses.


	7. The Smell of War

(_Will he be alright?_)

Drift in the green, see the red horizon. Surfacing, he sees nothing but red mist. Red mist on her green lake.

(_Yar, jus' overdriv'n. Idyit._)

Beautiful. He sees her, a dim shadow at the lake's bottom. She is looking up at him.

(_Is his heartbeat stable?_)

He wants to reach out to her, to caress that familiar skin, to feel the green envelope him. He cannot. As her eyes close, his open.

(_As stable as it's going to get. It was a bit faint for awhile, but-_)

Link almost laughs at the question. Stable? His entire _body_ is beating, screw his heart. _Gods, what a headache. _Link has been incapacitated for a few hours now, and the knowledge of his beloved companion's demise has settled in his mind. Another life ended, another grave to dig in the name of whoever the hell he is in this strange world for. _Gods, what am I doing here?_ He asks himself. Springing up from the back of his mind, that strange dream: _A demon pursues the gate. You must destroy it._

"Well, yeh're awake, den. Welcome back ter de world, ye fool!" Copparman's voice echoes, dusky and unmistakeable. Link opens his eyes and takes a quick look around. Three faces surround him: Alyssa, looking cross; Copparman, also looking quite cross; Lorelei, looking simply concerned. He closes his eyes and feels his body pulse like a massive bruise. "I'm sorry. Just, my horse... We've been through a lot together. I can't believe she's gone." Remembering his look of shock and horror on his face, Alyssa and Copparman soften their expressions. Link almost drifts back to vacant sleep when Alyssa speaks. "What do you want to do with the horse?"

What does he want to do with his horse? Link wants to bury his precious friend himself, _by_ himself. He wants to find his dusty ocarina in one of his tunic's pockets. He wants to play her song for her, watch the sun set on her humble grave. A few tears well against his eyelids; he forces them back, angry with himself for showing such cowardice. "I suppose you wouldn't let me handle that, would you," he asks, maintaining his composure better than he expected to. Alyssa shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Link, you're just too hurt. We have to hurry, though; the smell of the dead attracts the Lycanthropes." Link blinks. "Lycan_whats_?" Alyssa averts her eyes to the window, blackness of dusk veiling the sky. "It's something I'll tell you about, but not right now."

Link nods into his pillow, closing his eyes again. "Bury her. Please." Sparks and lines dance about his closed eyes, fluent and electric. Dimly, he can hear footsteps and a curious thumping sound echoing away from him. He vaguely remembers something that would suit him well right about now. Kakariko village, in the future... It was there, when he was an adult. A musky place... It smelled like Castle Town's back alleys... _Ah, yes._ "A good, solid mug of ale," he breathes, drifting into shallow sleep at the thought of that bitter panacea.

Footsteps, this time toward him, awaken Link quietly. His eyes slide open, waiting for the intruder to identify themself. Weight assures itself on the foot of his down bed, too light to be Copparman, too heavy to be Lorelei. "You awake?" As he had thought, it was the girl, Alyssa. "Yes," He says, a tad impatiently; he was so close to touching the bottom of the lake, to touching her. "I just wanted to finish what I was saying earlier, about the Lycanthropes; didn't want to scare the little'un." _Scare her? You don't have to worry about that_, he almost says. Deciding against it, he remains silent. "Well, the reason why there were scouts out into the desert is a bit of an early warning system. As you probably know, there was a big uprising south of the desert a few months back. From what we've picked up, they're being lead by some sort of religious leader now, and they've formed an army." She shrugs, "that's about all I know, to be honest. It sounds bad enough to post scouts, anyways. But from the bits and pieces your friends gave me, you've seen them firsthand." Link pushes himself up and looks at Alyssa; she's wearing a deep purple nightgown, and she smells of bathing salts.

"Our scouts couldn't find any bodies, only bloodstains around you and your friends. They thought you were attacked by bandits." Link remains silent, listening. She continues. "Alright, about the Lycanthropes. There was an old legend back before the provinces were united under the Burzian flag; most of it is lost to history, but apparantly an ancient sorcerer cursed the mountainous forests between here and the mainland, causing everyone in the settlements and villages between the Kehit pass and the mainland to become Lycanthropes, wolf-like monstrocities, at nighttime. They lost all sense of self, hunting and killing those that would dare enter the forest. I don't know whether that's the truth or not, but Lycanthropes are real, and they've been here since before anyone can remember." Hmm... Wolf-like humanoids... "I think I've dealt with what you're talking about before. Do they have a tail?"

To Link's surprise, Alyssa shakes her head. "No, they don't. But don't worry; in a few days time you might just see for yourself." Her expression is not of fear or dread; it is of morbid anticipation. "We have a massive wall and gate built into the side of our city, blocking the Lycanthropes from getting in. For centuries, it held them from Osov and the surrounding farmlands... But they've been getting bold as of late. We've fought skirmishes at our walls before, though few and far in between. But since last year, we've had to defend our walls twice a month, at the least. No attacks have happened since two months agone, though; father thinks they must be gathering their strength." _Another obstacle to overcome_,

thinks Link. He stopped seeing such creatures as horrors a long time ago, but rather as numbers; he had to, if he was to remain sane through his last quest. "I see." She's telling him this because she's worried, Link is sure; he can read it in her expression. _Copparman must be boasting of the fight, and it caught us the town's attention. _

_Well_, he thinks, _I have little choice._ "I'll help in any way I can." Her face visibly brightens. "I knew you would be up for it, but I'm not the one to talk about that to; my father, Gerald Dugall, will want to hold a meeting with your party as soon as you're well enough." She gives Link another one of those smiles he has come to like. "I've bothered you enough tonight. I'll have breakfast up here tomorrow." _Ah, sweet mercy._ With that, she jumps off the bed and leaves Link to his thoughts.

The next few days are an unusual surrealism to Link; he's used to outdoor life, roughing it in the wilderness. Combined with the loss of his beloved Epona, the time passes with little memory between, foggy days and foggy nights of little value or importance to him.

His clarity returns to him the day he removes his bandages and moves freely; motion and action help distract him from the memories echoing from his strange past. At least, until the nightfall.

Sleep for the Hero of Time is when the momentum slows. Those ancient wounds he's buried so well begin to turn in their graves, bringing with them those familiar, grey dreams.

On the fifth day, as Alyssa had suspected, the three were summoned to meet her father. In addition to his still injured leg requiring a cane, Copparman looks the way men do after a night of drinking; they had integrated and met many of the villagers, but Copparman took it a step further. _Seems the man knows how to get the ball rolling and the drinks bought_, thinks Link, recalling the way he told his story in such an enrapturing way on the path to this place. They had also pitched in and earned their care, helping on odd jobs throughout the village, learning of its geography and peoples. A lot like Kakariko, the town is close knit but kindly, obviously unused to strangers; there was a depth of awkwardness behind the smiles, almost a sense of expectation, as if they were going to burst into flames at any moment.

They toured the town, keeping their thoughts to themselves, for the most part; the wall caught their attention almost immediately. They could do little but stand in awe at the massive wall covering the distant, tree filled landscape. It ran on into a deeply forested part of the township on one end. The other end passed through the large township and across seemingly endless mountain-backed farmlands, dissolving into the distance. It was of dark rock, at least twenty feet tall and four or five feet in depth. The gate built into the town was reinforced with iron, looking nigh impenetrable. The township itself was much larger than they had thought; though similar in building type, it was easily three or four times the size of Kakariko, with endless farms dotting the clearings to the west.

The climate is much cooler than the desert; Link feels his tunic ripple with bracing mountain wind, enjoying the sensation of gooseflesh climbing his arms and legs. They are walking through a dirt road, Link being reminded forcibly of Kakariko once again, with the red-shingled roofs and windmill towers. The people on the street, mostly dressed in fine but plain clothes, give them curt nods or halfhearted waves as they pass. After what seems to be a long time, they come to an imposing building they had passed in previous days.

It is like a small wooden mansion. They found out it is what serves as a parliament building for the surrounding town and farms; it appears these people aren't ruled by a lord, but rather an elected official. _Strange_, thinks Link, as they walk up the polished wooden steps into the large courtroom.

The room itself is massive and vacuous, easily able to hold a hundred people comfortably. Rows of long, wooden seats line the room to the front, where a large podium stands. Seated there is Alyssa, as well as a man they didn't recognise.

He is the epitome of a veteran warrior, covered head to toe with grisly scars. He has the same skintone as Alyssa, with long, jet-black hair wrapped in a rough ponytail. His most prominent feature, however, is the fact that he is missing his left arm at the shoulder. His cotton armlet is cinched at the shoulder to his left leather pauldron, stopping the empty armlet from fluttering in the breeze. Their eyes meet as soon as Link walks in; his burning brown eyes are sunken, roofed by wild, wiry-black eyebrows.

Gerald Dugall, Alyssa's father. Their intentions meet in their eyes. Link knows he doesn't trust this man, and he is sure the man is thinking the same thing. As if hearing his thoughts, Gerald cracks a wry smile. Link holds the man's gaze until the smile drops to an unfriendly frown. Sensing the tension, she gives the group a small smile and points to three unoccupied chairs opposite the podium. They all sit down, letting the awkward silence fill their ears. Finally, Gerald Dugall speaks. "Good day to thee, Link, Copparman and Lorelei. I am Gerald Dugall, resident mayor of Osov." He gestures Alyssa on his right. "You've already met my daughter, Alyssa. Now, I would like to hear exactly what happened to you on the day we found you. And none of this foolishness with the Clan soldiers that's been going about; my people are stressed enough, what with those beasts over yonder wall making such a mess."

Link meets Gerald's eye again, allowing him a small glimpse into Link's conscience. "That is no lie, this I assure you. We were beset on by ten of what you call the Clan, and we barely made it out alive." Anger, and what could be some bastardization of fear, spring forth into the man's eyes. He slams his fist down on the table, causing everyone but Link and he to flinch, making an indent in the podium table itself. "Lies! How do you explain that there were no bodies found, hm?" Link simply shakes his head. "Don't know. But we fought them, alright; they wounded us severely and murdered my horse." Gerald calms down a notch, but his nostrils still flare, as if to breathe fire. "Yes? And why would they be after you and yours? What makes you so important?"

Link looks at the indent in the wood, deciding to choose his words carefully. "I can't answer that. All we know is we were attacked by red-robed men with bullseye-like tabards that seemed to travel through some sort of mist." For a long time, silence holds the room in sway, every second stretching into millenia. Gerald rubs his deepset eyes with his thumb and index finger, looking weary and anticipating.

He sighs. "As much as I would like to scoff and dismiss you, I've a feeling you're telling the truth. Lad, we've been cut off from the Burzian Reich since its unification, due to the Lycanthropes my daughter told you about." He drops his hand and once again focuses on Link. "We're on our own; we always have been. The last thing we need is a brush with the new Clan Empire. The time of war comes soon, and I'll be damned if we'll be the ones to start it. If you cannot provide clear reason why you were attacked by them, I'll have to ask you to leave as soon as possible."

"_Father!_" Alyssa hisses from Gerald's right; he waves his hand to her and she falls silent, glowering.

Link looks over to his right; Copparman is slumped in his chair, nodding off. Lorelei, to his right, is listening intently to every word, her dark curls framing her face. _She's looking just a little bit _

_sharper every day_, thinks Link. _We'll be seeing some of her real personality filter through, soon enough._ He turns back to Gerald, holding his mental ground. "I understand. However, I have a proposition, if you would hear it."

Gerald nods.

_'Burzian Reich', eh? Local superpower, perhaps?_

"If you will give me three days, I may have the solution to both our problems. First of all, please tell me about this Burzian Reich."

He blinks, looking at Link as if he had spoken another tongue. "What do you mean, what is the Burzian Reich? You're in it; it encompasses the entire northlands, from the northern reaches of

Tavar to the ocean." Seeing that Link is serious, he leans in. "You are much more of an outlander than I had thought. We have a book in here that will tell you what you want to know. I'll see to it that the book is delivered to my estate before nightfall. Very well, you have your three days." Link nods respectfully.

_Thump. _"Gardang de All-One's bleedin' fanny!"

They both turn to see Copparman rubbing his head furiously, muttering under his breath; he had dipped into his chest, smacking his head on the podium-table. "You do keep strange company, outlander. Strange company indeed," the old man mutters as he stands up.

They get up, and Alyssa runs up to join them in walking out of the building. Gerald lags behind, watching both Link and his daughter very carefully.

"What kind of plan do you have, Link?" He sees that she is once again in the cotton-and-leather armor he had seen her in on the first day. Link spares her a look, then simply shrugs. "I don't know yet. I have an inkling, but I'll have to read about this Burzia." She gives him the same look her father did. "How is it that you don't know about Burzia? It's, like, common knowledge."

Link gives her a dry look. "Trust me when I say this. I'm not from around here. Not even close."

_Wait a minute. _"Copparman?" He looks up, redfaced and huffing, an angry dark mark glowing on his forehead. "Aye?"

Link favours him a cynical smile. "Why didn't you mention this Burzia beforehand, if it was common knowledge?" Copparman just gives him a blank look. "I dinna' wha' exactly it were. De desert be a forbiddin' foe, so I kept close ter it when I wus travellin' northwesterly. Edercashun ain't too good in places li'e Balaverk an' de likes; when I wus travellin', there wus still witch-bernin's. Sides, we traded wi' de Tavar and de surroundin' baronies to de south, bu' never wit' Burzia. T'was bu' a passin' thing brough' in by far-travellin' merchants, didn' think t'was as big as t'seems ter be." Link didn't figure this to be the exact truth, but it didn't matter; maybe Burzia is the Hylia of this world.

_Maybe they can help me end this incessant pull to the north,_ he thinks, not daring to hope.


	8. Burzia

"_There was once a man of great valour and indomitable courage; this man was named Borlor of Burzia. _

_Burzia of his time was simply a small province oppressed by brutal monarchy. To its left and right were the provinces of Duranis and Orimar, respectively. _

_The province of Duranis was a land rich in fertile soils; the cruel lords of the land forced heavy labour and unfair taxation on the farming communities, leaving them desolate and starving._

_The province of Orimar was a place of lakes and iron; the aristocrats held the people of Orimar on a tight lead, using the iron the workers mined to supply the armies that oppressed them._

_Burzia itself fared little better. It was a landlocked province; the forests to the south were deep-rooted and tough, as well as cursed with Lycanthropy. Further still to the south was the ancient Kehit desert, stretching miles across the lands to the damp footholds of the south world. To the east and west of the country were the landmarks associated with both Burzia's neighbors; central Burzia was a mass of plateaus and gently rolling hills. Burzia itself, much like its neighboring states, had no organized system of capital; the nobility simply took what they wanted. As such, the main city of Seta Burzi stood as the hub of the aristocrats and military, the numerous small farming and gathering communities surrounding it like a spider's web._

_These were the Dark Times; people were miserable and uneducated, the 'army' of Burzia was a conglomeration of thugs and looters, pillaging what little the people had for the nobility to grow fat on. It was in a nameless fringe town that Borlor, Hero of the People and founder of the Burzian Reich, was born. He grew to manhood witnessing much of the torment inflicted upon his brothers and sisters by the cruel King of Burzia. He realised the time of revolution was at hand when Burzia declared war on Duranis over a petty monarchical dispute. Conscription of unwilling peasant folk began, and Borlor himself was drafted to fight these people he held no hate against._

_The war raged on and many died. Borlor drew around him a few disillusioned veterans, as well as the conscripts that were forced into fighting; he convinced them of his plan for revolution, for The People's Burzia, for the Burzian Reich we live in today. They left the war on the spot, causing mass confusion and forcing the remaining Burzian forces to go on the defensive. They marched from township to township, gaining and training many followers and sympathizers._

_Soon, when Borlor's Army was ready to march onto the capital of Seta Burzi, he held a standing force stronger than the entire of Burzia's remaining army. Though ill-equipped and hungry, Borlor's _

_Army vastly outnumbered the depleted capital; what remained of Burzia's military were still waging the increasingly arduous war at the border to Duranis. In a matter of days they had taken the capital, slaying the nobles where they screamed and begged for undeserving mercy. It is said Borlor himself took off the King's head and kept his skull as a trophy. They plundered the riches of Seta Burzi's castle before burning it to the ground._

_They dragged the bodies of the nobles and their families into the rubble, a gory monument to their greed that still remains to this day._

_Soon after the sacking of Seta Burzi, Grand Representative Borlor signed a peace treaty with the reluctant leaders of Duranis. He ordered every soldier returning from battle to be executed. Food and wealth was redistributed to the people as the rest of Burzia was cleansed of any remaining loyalists to the old ways._

_With most of the people happy and prospering, Borlor's new Burzia entered a golden age._

_But soon the eyes of Orimar were upon then. The aristocracy of the land, which had largely remained silent throughout the Burzian Revolution, began distancing itself from trade with Burzia, as well as decrying their new system of government._

_Grand Representative Borlor sensed Orimar's intentions; though the ruling party was cowardly by nature, they had a substantial standing army strong enough to pose a serious threat to Borlor's reformed Burzia._

_It was then decided that they would make the first strike, attacking the quarries of Orimar in an attempt to cripple their war machine. They succeeded, but not due to the attacks on the quarries. The people of Orimar themselves cheered and applauded their invaders; word had gotten out of the Burzian Revolution, and it seemed that the sentiment was echoed in the neighboring lands._

_So, much like they had previously, they marched across the scattered townships, gaining support with promises of economic freedom and vengeance against their oppressors. The aristocracy residing in Orimar's capital, Mechanine, offered capitulation in return for their continued rule. The messenger they sent was promptly executed upon arrival._

_They met the army of Mechanine at the front gates of the impressive city. The fighting and resulting siege continued for five days, and hope of breaching the city was fading._

_Then, the last thing Borlor expected; the soldiers opened the castle gates and marched out, throwing their weapons to the ground in surrender._

_Alexa Cromwell, Lady of Orimar, murdered her husband in his slumber and declared Orimar's annexation to Burzia herself, the beautiful queen bowing at the feet of Borlor._

_Borlor ordered her into custody and lead his army into the city, executing the aristocrats and their families within._

_This pivotal event marked the beginning of the Reich; Burzian territory more than doubled in size, dividing the provinces into the Mainland and the Eastland._

_But Borlor's triumph was short-lived. While he had been liberating the people of Orimar, Duranis had made its long-delayed move. _

_Seta Burzi was completely besieged. The land around it was scorched and ruined as far as a mile out. The fledgling Reich's new army clashed with the Duranian invaders in a week long struggle to recapture their capital city. Eventually they pushed them back enough to enter the city safely. Most of the people inside were dead or dying from starvation and sickness. Mass graves were dug on the barren outskirts of the city, with Borlor proclaiming vengeance on Duranis for their cowardly attack._

_So they set to rebuilding Seta Burzi and fortifying the Burzian-Duranian border with walls and trenches. Borlor fell in love with the former Queen and they married, solidifying the Reich's social ties._

_But yet another surprise awaited them. A fortnight before the Hammer of the People and his army were to march into Duranis, a messenger sent word that the monarchy there had resigned political power and adopted representation, and that the new Duranian government had offered peace._

_This surprised Borlor, but he remained undeterred; they had committed a grave crime, and they would pay with the abdication of their province to the mighty Burzian Reich._

_So, sending his reply by killing the messenger, Borlor prepared the Reich's army for the invasion of Duranis._

_Unlike monarchical Burzia and Orimar, the people of the land were in no duress; Borlor had less momentum, though the land was flat and easily traveled._

_When they arrived at the fortress-capital of Durst, Borlor ordered the annexation of all of Duranis, by force or otherwise; they declined vehemently, asserting a fight to the death._

_Borlor ordered a fire be set all around the large fortress-city._

_The fire leapt across the walls and into the city, burning most of the buildings and killing many. Borlor's army then forced the large gate open, charging into the burning city with blades brandishing and bows nocked. The city was captured within the day, and the province of Duranis came under the banner of the mighty Reich as the Westlands._

_Borlor, Supreme Representative of the Burzian Reich, returned to Seta Burzi, erecting a mighty parliament building behind the ruins of the old castle for the use of him and his successors._

_He fell gravely ill and died two years later, and Lady Alexa, then pregnant with their son, became the next Supreme Representative. The unification of the Burzian Reich was 300 years ago, and Borlor's line has continued to serve the people of the Reich, now and forevermore."_

Link closes the book carefully, and lays it down on the table to his left. The thing reeks of propaganda, this Link is sure of; he smells the stench of a glorified tyrant, one likely no different from Ganondorf.

He feels restless; ever since his wounds healed, he's been exercising regularly, enjoying the mobility. He remembers seeing a sparring gallery and some longswords out in the back of the estate, and decides some midnight sword practice is in order.

He enters the fragrant night. The air smells of cool moisture and farmland; the scent of mountain flowers drift at the edge of his senses. They make him think of home, of the forest, of her hair... _Enough of that._

He reaches the dark gallery. It has a few well-beaten straw dummies lined up in a row, awaiting more punishment. A sword rack stands alongside the wall, containing a few battered looking but sturdy blades. Link picks one off the rack, testing it with his left arm. The weight is reassuring, the comfort of an old friend. He practices a few forms on the dummies, wearing off the rustiness in his body. _The road ahead is clear enough, _thinks Link. _I have to make my way to this Seta Burzi, one way or another. _He brings the sword down with both hands on one of the dummies, splitting the head like an orange. _But how?_ He drops himself into the defensive, ready to parry any invisible foes; he unleashes a torrent of quick, lightning jabs into one of them, great chunks of straw netting falling around him. _These people have a recurring problem with 'Lycanthropes', though I haven't seen any yet. I suppose it all comes down to time._

The clouds part and the white moon shines down on him, illuminating the sparring ground; he sees a shadow flicker across the ground and turns, ready for anything.

It's Alyssa, once again in her light nightgown. "What are you doing out here so late?"

Link drives the head of the blade into the ground and faces her; her features are hard to read, blanched by the pale light. "Sorry if I woke you, I'm just a little restless."

She walks over to the sword rack and picks one of them up with surprising ease. "Sparring, eh? Care for a partner?"

For a moment, Link says nothing. She's wiry strong, of that there is no doubt, but she's also in a nightgown; not to mention the fact that her father is their current patron. Remembering the Malon-ness in her, Link chooses his words carefully. "I've been at this a long time... I don't know if it would be such a good idea."

But she ignores him, dropping into a stance he knows well. "Here's the deal. I'm going to attack you, and whether you're defending yourself or not is your problem, not mine." She gives him a mischievous smile before entering a surprising dive. Link wrenches his blade out of the ground and shrugs her lunge off with his crossguard. "Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you!" He puts out a reasonably strong horizontal blow which is blocked with surprising alacrity. He has to scramble to parry her vertical slice, managing to knock her off balance long enough for him to recover his defensive stance. She mimics his positioning to a tee. "Where did you learn to fight like that?" Link is duly impressed; this young woman has been practicing quite a bit, of that there is no doubt. "I'd ask you the same question, good sir. But I have a feeling I won't get an answer."

Link cocks his eyebrow. "Oh, is that so?" She feints another lunge but pulls up into a forward slash, catching Link off guard. He blocks it successfully, but trips on his own sneaker. He hits the grass heavily, cursing.

He hears giggling, and looks up to a sword pointed at him. "Do you forfeit, sir knight?"

He raises his arms in mock surrender. "I do, good lady, I do."

She throws the sword aside and jumps down beside him. "You're an enigma to father, you know. You make him... Nervous."

Link shrugs. "I get that a lot."

Alyssa eyes him suspiciously, quizzically. "Well, why don't you tell me a bit of your story? You pretty much know all of ours, it's only fair."

Link looks past her to the silver moon, high in it's orbit, and wonders vaguely where it's companion is right now. "It's a long story, and not really important."

"What, so you're saying you don't trust me?" She gives Link a mock hurt expression; he returns it with a look that softens her brow. "It's not that. It's complicated."

For awhile, they just sit, bathing in the moon's cold light. He doesn't feel her edging closer; rather, it is a subconscious sense of her motion that drives him to look. He sees a blur toward his face, and feels that searing sensation that could only mean one thing; she leaned in and kissed him. Maybe it was a trick of the light, maybe it was simply his imagination; but for a few moments, he could have sworn it was Saria there, pressed against him in the moonlight. His logic in chaos, he leans in deeply, returning the kiss with much vigor. She pushes herself onto Link, pressing herself against his tunic. For a moment, he feels stirring in his loins, arousal. Suddenly, that familiar image explodes in his mind; Saria, sitting on that lonely stump, playing her sacred melody into the still air. So serene, so sad, in quiet defiance of unquestionable destiny.

Alyssa feels the change in Link, and looks at him. His eyes are glassy, moist; he is lost in the grey halls of his memory, vacant and abandoned, a mute victim to a hero's fate. Though inexperienced in the ways of love, she recognises the face of heartbreak well, as it was a face her father wore since they had lost her mother in the years when she toddled. "Tell me about her," she whispers in his ear. "It will make you feel better."

"The whole thing?" He manages to say, choked and sore as his voice sounds. Reliving his memories of the forest has it's appeal, in a bittersweet way; as much as he abhors self-pity, unloading his sad story will certainly lift it's terrible weight off his shoulders, if only for awhile. They have haunted his thoughts for too long; he is sick and terrified of those grey nightmares that pervade his dreamscape. As if in justification, he feels that his past is key to how he is now, and how he became the Hero of Time; his introversion, his bottling, his cold fury.

"Yep, all of it. As much as you're comfortable with." Alyssa's hand is stroking his face, peeling away that internal armor, strip by strip.

So it is here, in a strange world, in a town called Osov that reminds Link of Kakariko, that he tells the strange childhood of Link, the Hero of Time.


	9. The Kokiri, part I

Link's young childhood was, for the most part, a blank slate. He knew Saria had cared for him in his toddling years; the other Kokiri, particularily Mido, more or less wanted nothing to do with him. Understandably so, of course; he was an oddity, a younger among the eternally young. In retrospect, Saria and the Great Deku Tree were probably the only ones that stood between he and the less enthused Kokiri from neglecting him entirely.

One of Link's fondest memories was when he was learning archaic Hylian in his ninth year, though it had helped him little; the Kokiri, isolated as they were, knew nothing of the changes to literature over the centuries. But he had learned, and quickly. Only one thing slowed him, the only thing that could: Saria. Since he could remember, he's always held her in reverance. Though she took care of him the way a mother would, she acted toward him the only way she knew how; as a friend. Borne of this was their friendship, unusual as it was. The first time he found their friendship lean to something more was after he had conquered reading and writing. He was a fast learner, but not when Saria was around; she distracted him in a way he didn't yet understand. Because of this, he always felt like a dullard when Saria came in to see his progress, trying to think and continue but unable to do so; her hair would hit the light, shimmering like watergrass, drawing his eyes away from the parchment. She would catch him looking at her and smile awkwardly, dragging his eyes back down and tinting his cheeks with red. Finally, after days of sporadic progress, he mastered it. Reciting every word Saria wrote to perfection, she jumped up and hugged him. "I knew you could do it, Link!" She had said with great enthusiasm.

He remembers smiling broadly and truly for one of the few times in his life.

Later that night, when Saria had left her hut to bathe in the small, secluded lake that ran through and behind the Kokiri shop, Link found himself at her table, a blank sheet of parchment in front of him. Eager to exercise his newfound skill, he groped mentally for something to write about. Of course, it had to be someone or something other than Saria; he knew the only way he could write about her. He would die if she ever got hand of something like _that_. So here he sat, contemplating. Writing about nature was a good idea... But it wouldn't feel right, not really; too impersonal. Maybe about the small forest animals? Nah, he didn't see enough of them, himself; Saria could walk right up to them and pat their heads if she felt like it, whereas they would dart away from Link if he walked within throwing distance. Saria... He could still write about her, he would just have to make sure she never saw what he wrote. No use in trying anything else; Saria was occupying his thoughts like an invading culture. So he looked back down at the paper, picked up his piece of charcoal and began. He wrote and wrote until he ran out of charcoal. It didn't matter, though, not really. He was done; he knew it. Finally, he brought his eyes up to look through the circular window; the night was deep, the moon's position telling him it was well past midnight. He had not realised how late it was, being so focused on his work; he had wanted to catch the ducks by the shop before they swam out to the lake. He walked out of Saria's hut wondering if they were still there. By the time he had made it to the shop's waterfront, the ducks were indeed well gone, having no reason to stay other than bribes of food that didn't come. He walked back to his treehouse feeling an odd sense of emptiness, as if he had forgotten something; his memory was never great, so this was a common occurance, usually leaving him after a few minutes.

It left, blindsiding him like a bag of lodestones. His writing, he had forgotten it at Saria's house! He began a lurching run toward her house, hoping to beat her there, stumbling twice and nearly breaking his nose. He managed to slow himself to a sneak when he finally neared her hut, moving quietly behind the shrubs and grass by her front. He froze when he spotted movement, the one person he didn't want to see; Saria was making good progress to her house. He held his ground, helpless, only able to watch and wait as she walked into her hut and relit the candles within. As soon as she was out of sight, he snuck around to the front door, hoping to snatch the paper and make a quiet dash before she could notice it or him. Peering carefully in the house, he scanned for Saria; to his horror, she had sat down at her table and noticed his parchment, pulling it toward her. He began feverishly thinking of ways to escape the

Kokiri village, maybe all of Hyrule; maybe he could jump in the lake with rocks in his shoes, maybe he could try to get lost in the Lost Woods, maybe- His breath caught in his throat. A small sound emanated from the room, a sharp intake of air. Link forced himself to look back into the room. What he saw confounded him; Saria was crying. No, wait, not quite crying, not really; tears were making silent progress down her cheeks, but she was smiling. The way the candlelight bathed her face in half-fire, it was as if her eyes bled silver. At that point, Link had seen enough. He turned and fled quickly and quietly to his treehouse, determined to never bring up the topic of his writing, if he could avoid it.

Of course, as he had expected, things were a bit awkward for awhile after. Neither of them talked about it, of course, but he could feel her eyes on him each time he looked away from her.

This went on for a long time, an eternity to Link. But eventually they simply forgot about it, the way children do. Hylian children, that is. He never truly understood what his simple stanza meant to Saria; she had kept it under her pillow all through his adventure, him rediscovering it in the seven-year alternate world while looking for her.

They were together most of the time as the years passed on. Link grew to age ten, filling in well, a strapping young lad; Saria saw something new every day. In contrast to her, the xenophobic Kokiri kept away from him as much as possible. It was as if they expected him to grow fangs and attack them. He didn't realise it then, either, but the way they treated him probably helped shape him into the 'Hero of Time' he would become; that, and Mido's treatment, helped construct that deep, scarred armor he wore around himself like a second skin.

Ah, Mido. Mido, unlike the other Kokiri, didn't fear him. What he did fear was his connection with Saria, the girl he knew and loved for twelve-hundred odd years. How does this brat, this _outsider_, do it? How, in a few short years, does he sway her the way he does, without even realising it? These thoughts drove Mido to unexpected bouts of cruelty toward Link. Whenever he could catch Link without Saria around, he would do whatever he could to make Link miserable; in his younger years, Mido often beat him senseless. After each beating, he would gather himself and shamble home, pained and exhausted, seething. He would hide this from Saria as best he could, keeping indoors until he healed.

Heal he did, physically; though bruises recoloured and the soreness faded, each blow burned the thread of his hate deeper into his spirit, binding that mental armor ever tighter.

One day, on the eve of his eleventh birthday, he sat alone against a tree, holding a blade of grass to his eye. Upon it lay a ladybug, obliviously chewing away at the corner of the blade.

His vision suddenly jerked as he tumbled sideways. The blade of grass hit the dirt, pinning the ladybug under it. "Whadda we have here?" The last person he wanted to deal with stood above him, foot raised. Link got to his feet. Not knowing what else to say, he just told the truth. "Leave me alone, I'm just looking at a ladybug." Mido looked at the fallen blade of grass on the barren ground surrounding the tree. "Oh, you mean this bug?" Before Link could stop him, he slammed his foot down on the grass, killing the ladybug underneath.

At this, something in him broke. Mido's abuse, that innocent creature's death, everything; it exploded from his mind with the force of an erupting volcano.

Before either of them could realise it, Link's fist shot out and connected with Mido's face, knocking him sprawling.

His first concept of pure rage was that day. The horror and disbelief in Mido's quickly swelling face, it brought him terrible satisfaction, something he infinitely coveted and feared.

He reared for another blow, but too late; Mido scrambled and ran.

He realised he was breathing raggedly, as if his lungs were bleeding. They certainly felt like it; it was as if they were scorched with flame. He sat down in the dust and contemplated what he had just done.

Mido would certainly demonize him for what he just did. Either that, or remain quiet simply out of shame. He had to hope for the latter; Saria had little idea of their true relationship, just figuring Mido was disapproving of her fondness of Link. Hearing of what he did would certainly disappoint her, especially with Mido's talent for embellishment.

His eyes once more were upon the blade of grass, with the dead ladybug a wet bundle underneath. The rolling depression that always followed close behind rage hit him then, as it would many times afterward, and he laid his head beneath his knees, crying quietly.


	10. The Kokiri, part II

**Reghedable:**_Because of the T rating to this story, I've left out some bits that could be considered "suggestive", marked by a _(***)_, as much as I hate censorship. Drop me an email if you'd like the _

_original document without the censorship._

The last year of his time with the Kokiri was indeed a turbulent one. Mido avoided him whenever he could, never bothering him again; after Link took him down earlier, he was loathe to be in

the same room as him. Thankfully, he kept Link's retaliation to himself. The Kokiri began to act generally more accepting and kindly to Link as well, with Link nearing the age they appeared

as.

His early attraction to Saria had grown to a deep, kinetic love for her that he understood no better than years earlier. Completely oblivious to him, of course, Saria felt little different; they

were locked in that strange and beautiful form of phantom friendship, feeling that profound adoration yet terrified to express it for fear of rejection.

There were moments, of course, where they could see the surface of those feelings in each other, moments that Link would later curse himself for being too cowardly to take advantage of.

The first of those came two weeks into his eleventh year, in the late spring of the Kokiri Forest.

He was dozing in a tree, enjoying the soft warmth of late day against the tough reassurance of heavy bark.

Then, out of nowhere, a sharp prick to his forehead; he was too fargone to rouse himself, and simply ignored it.

Another knock on the head hit him harder, startling him awake; staring up at him was Saria, acorn in hand, her lazy fairy snoozing on her shoulder. "Well, it's about time, sleepyhead." Her

elbows and knees were stained with green, her eyes alight with new discovery. "C'mon down," she said, "I found this really neat pond in the lost woods."

Link shrugged the sleep off and climbed carefully down from the outstretched branch he was sitting on. "What do you mean, pond?" He made the final jump down onto the ground beside

Saria; he stood a small bit taller than her now, relishing her looking up to him for once.

"I mean just that. It's really deep!" With that she took off, as she was prone to doing; Link had never heard of ADD, but he was certain there had to be a name for people who did that. He

took off after her.

They slipped into the Lost Woods, beautiful, immortal and deadly; Link didn't know what would happen to him if he got lost in there, and had no compulsion to try and find out. Saria was now

walking beside him, pulling him urgently toward this pond she was so excited about.

The dizzying log maze confused Link, as always. Saria seemed to know her way like the back of her hand; she made brisk progress, twice accidentally knocking her sour-minded fairy off her

shoulder. He gave up the ghost and fluttered off into the forest to pout.

Finally they arrive at a clearing, a small yet deep body of water at it's center.

"Feel like a swim?" Saria inquired, giving Link a look of mixed playfulness and curiosity. He simply shrugged. He swam before, but not often, nor with Saria. "Sure, I guess."

She beamed at him, and began to pull her arms out of her sleeves. Kokiri are often quite private about their bodies; you would be loathe to find one without the traditional green garb on.

Saria, on the other hand, held no such compunction.

Link, of course, did not expect this; he found his eyes raking her body as she removed her clothing, stunned. (***) She gave him a slightly puzzled smile before jumping in. Link watched her

lucid body flow underwater for a moment, mystified, enjoying a most curious stirring in his loins.

Saria resurfaced, shivering slightly, goosebumps lining her shoulders and chest. She shook her head vigorously, scattering sparkling water across the pond. "Come on in! The water's nice

and cold!" She swam over to his side of the shore and splashed him.

"Hey! I'll get you for that!" He exclaimed, surprising himself with his own enthusiasm. The water was indeed cool, shocking his skin. He disrobed and jumped in after her.

For awhile, they played as children in water do; it was deep into the fragrant night before they were both too tired to continue.

Link sat on the edge of the strange pond, redressed, watching Saria. She was floating nearby, spreading her weight evenly across the water to remain aloft, her sapphire eyes on the night

sky above. Droplets of water rolled down her face, magnifying each raised pore in their silent voyage. Her hair drifted around her head in a green halo of shimmering watergrass. How the

moon's detailed crescent reflected deeply in each iris astounded Link, enraptured him. The pale moonlight seemed to highlight a few small freckles on her cheeks; it also caused the ends of

her eyelashes to sparkle with a deep, wonderful light.

She caught his eye, giving him one of her unique smiles. He looked quickly into the water, blushing.

Wait, something caught his eye; a glinting of something brighter than stone. "Hey, Saria, I think I see something down at the bottom." She turned, swimming over to him. Slipping onto shore

beside Link, she looked down into the dark crystal pond.

Surely enough, glinting in the moonlight, a globular ornament of some kind stood in the sand. In addition to the moonlight glinting off of it's glasslike surface, it seemed to give off it's own

strange radiance; a faint, deep red, barely noticeable.

"I'll get it," Saria whispered, hushed and enthralled by the object.

She was off into the water before Link could stop her; he could do little but wait for her to resurface.

He watched Saria's progress into the deep water; further and further down she went, closing in on the strange orb.

He saw her fingers scrape the surface of the thing; as soon as she touched it, it disappeared.

Simply vanished.

And Saria had stopped moving.

Hot panic shot through Link's veins; he dove into the water with adrenaline-laced speed. His memory grew black, white and grey; he remembered curling his arm around Saria's waist and

blasting back up to the surface as fast as he could manage, taking note of nothing else.

He pulled her ashore.

Her eyes were closed, her lips turning a delicate shade of purple. She wasn't breathing.

Link knew nothing of the concept of CPR, but he was always gifted in quick thinking: She had taken water into her lungs, and that water had to come out. How? Well, the only way possible,

of course; it had to be forced out.

Link plugged her nose with one hand and opened her mouth with his other. He drew a massive breath of air and pressed his lips to hers. The reaction was immediate and explosive, but Link

paid no heed; he blew a steady stream of air into her lungs, terrified, praying feverishly to nothing in particular for this to work.

He parted from her, almost reluctantly, and waited.

A few seconds passed.

Nothing.

Link was on the verge of insane panic, slamming his hands to his forehead in mad impatience.

Suddenly, in a jerking fashion, Saria reared and coughed bubbling water onto the grass. She started coughing violently, eventually subsiding to rapid, laboured breaths. Link does no better;

he nearly passed out from the panic attack.

He took hold of her and pulled her into a fierce hug, pressing his chest to hers. "Don't you ever do something like that again, you hear me," he choked, barely able to control his own voice.

Saria closed her eyes, forcing her breathing to slow and calm. "It's okay, I'm fine," she whispered in his ear. "It was wierd, it's almost as if it took hold of me. Then I touched the thing. It felt

like nothing I've ever touched before, almost like a sort of skin. Then I'm here, coughing up water." She turned and gave Link a small kiss on the cheek; the dizzy, reassuring warmth of the

gesture was enough to calm him down. "You're my hero," she said, uncanny clarity in her voice.

She got dressed, and Link escorted her to her house, moving slowly and carefully. He helped her into bed, tucking her in much like she had done many years agone. He held for a moment

before leaving, glancing back at Saria. Her eyes were closed, her heavy blanket drawn up to her chin. At that moment, he saw not the boisterous, rambunctious, sweet-hearted Saria he was

used to seeing; he saw in her a fragility he didn't know existed, and it scared him. Terrified him. He made a vow to himself upon leaving her house: He would never see her like that again. He

would protect her in any way he could, no matter what.

Whatever that thing was that almost claimed Saria's life was put there for their discovery, this Link was sure of.

He made his way through the brush to the Great Deku Tree's clearing, avoiding the deku babas. When he arrived at the massive tree, he simply sat down and waited to be acknowledged; it

was customary of the Kokiri to never speak first to the Great Deku Tree, Saria had told him once.

A few moments pass, and Link saw dawn creeping across the horizon with heavy eyes.

_**Link. Welcome.** _

The Deku Tree's voice echoed in his head like a soft explosion, though no sound was made; it startled Link out of his drowsiness at once. "Great Deku Tree, Saria nearly drowned tonight.

There was a pond in the lost woods-"

_**Yes. I know. It was an omen, Link. Dark tidings come close, this I sense. I thank you for coming to me. But this is not the only reason you came.**_

His last few 'words' confused Link. He had come for no other reason, as far as he was aware.

_**It concerns the child Saria, Link. It burns in your heart. Ask, and I will counsel.**_

Ah, yes. What burned in his heart was a question, but one he was afraid to have answered. He knew he was different; the other Kokiri knew, even Saria knew. He was fairyless, for one; his

ears ended in points, unlike the ears of the Kokiri, as well. But the strongest factor dividing his mind remained: His most un-Kokirish feelings for Saria.

_**Link. You love the girl, Saria.**_

His eyes filmed, but his posture remained strong. "Yes, I do."

_**Do not pursue her, Link. You are correct: You are different. You will learn your difference soon, my child. I will summon you in a year, and all will be explained. But heed my **_

_**warning, dear Link. Down that path lies only despair. For both of you.**_

His words rang in Links head like funeral bells. The one thing he had feared. The most powerful entity they knew condemning his feelings, simply because he was _different_. For a moment, he

felt as if he could take an axe to that damn Tree and cut Him down for firewood.

_**Link. Understand. It will affect not only you, but those around you. When you learn the truth, you will understand.**_

But Link had already left the clearing, struggling to maintain his composure, not knowing whether to burst out screaming or crying. Bottling the rage like he always did, he climbs his ladder

and slips inside his hut, dragging himself into bed.

That night, he suffered the first of his nightmares.


	11. The Kokiri, part III

_A building far larger than any he had seen before loomed up before him, seperated from Link by a murky mote. It was dark, stormclouds hanging ominously in the sky. The drawbridge to the gigantic _

_fortress before him dropped slowly, crashing to a halt at his feet. A grey blur shot past him; he looked at it, seeing the terrified face of a beautiful youth he felt he knew well._

_All at once, it was gone into the distance._

_Heavy hoofthuds sound from behind him. He turned._

_A huge, black horse rose above him, rearing to the sky. Upon it sat the most terrifying being he had ever seen. The man-thing's face was olive green, framed by a mane of red hair. His features were _

_accentuated and grotesque. His eyes were a septic yellow, full of poison._

_He raised his hand._

Link's body was racked with chills, as if suffering disease. His eyes forced open, screaming pupils scanning his room for the unseen threat.

The surreal moment passed, and once again only Link lay in his small treehouse, panting heavily in a cold sweat.

Throughout the next few months, this increased in frequency from a few times a month to twice a week. It seemed to Link, with each nightmare, the scene became just a little clearer. The

man-thing's face became more pronounced, the blur became more solid. A few times he could even make out a blue object shooting out from the blur, hitting the water of the mote, before

the man-thing came upon him. On occasion, when the dreams were most vivid, he could hear the crack of distant thunder and the vicious gurgling of the mote.

But these dreams were the least of his problems. With the Deku Tree's proclamation, he became distant from Saria, trying as best he could to remain as aloof as possible. This was difficult;

their strange relationship opened a rift between them and the other Kokiri, them showing Saria impartial regard and Link simple exclusion, which gave them both much personal time.

It was during the change toward the cloudier, warmer seasons that Saria finally managed to corner him.

He had been resting against a large oak tree near the Lost Wood's entrance, drifting in and out of consciousness. The forest was silent, moist and warm under the dark grayscale of early

dawn.

For the longest time he heard nothing but his own labored breathing, a quiet and solemn sound echoing through the empty wood.

Then, as if from the tree he lay against, a high-pitched, melodious sound shaped the air around him. It sounded familiar, a callback to a tune he used to hear in the deep corners of his mind.

It charmed him, lifting his spirits; his head rose, assuring itself out of the dreamscape, and he knew at once where the sound came from.

Behind him lay Saria, on the other side of the oak, playing softly on a small, wooden instrument. The sky darkened further as a cool mist fell upon them, collecting into small rivulets rolling

down their tunics.

"Link?" Her words were mottled by the shower's rising strength, but he heard them; he could think of no other answer.

"Hi," he said, fully aware of how foolish he sounded.

The drizzle grew to light rain, blowing against him; his tunic quickly dampened, the cold sinking into his skin. He steeled himself against the quickly strengthening rainfall, huddling alongside

the tree's immense bulk.

If Saria had said anything, it was lost to Link; the rain was coming down at an alarming rate, his tunic now completely soaked. This being so, he was quite surprised to feel a deep warmth

assure itself on his left; she had, for no reason Link could understand, moved from the shelter of the tree to sit closely beside him.

Now they were both pelted relentlessly by the violent rains, sheltered only by the oak's foliage. As the water exploded around them, Link was only aware of Saria leaning toward his ear.

"I love the rain," she whispered, her breath a whisp to the torrential roar of the downpour.

Finally, Link turned to her; the rain had blown her soaked, green locks across her face, framing it like damp hemlock.

Link was about to speak when he felt a cold finger across his lips. "Let's go to my place, quick," said she, pulling him and herself up from the oak.

Soaked, Link complied, trailing behind Saria with some difficulty; the pathway had become slippery, and he stumbled more than once.

But he persisted, and eventually they came upon the Kokiri clearing. Mido, who was lounging in his entrance frame, snapped up to greet Saria from afar, sparing Link only a deep frown; it

was no longer any secret of Mido's contempt for Link, though Saria still seemed oblivious to it.

Ignoring him, they progressed to her roomy wood-house. Saria disappeared into a room nearby, returning with some woven towels. Throwing one to Link, she laid hers down on the half-log

table nearby and began working on a fire in her small wooden fireplace.

Soon, a small fire began to crackle, and the two sat beside each other on the warm carpet, drying off.

Link began to speak, but Saria once again quieted him. "I think I understand," said she. "You've been acting strange ever since we went to the pond, after seeing the Great Deku Tree," she

gave him a stern look, "so spill it. What did he say?"

Link found it hard to meet Saria's eyes, but managed it under great strain. "He told me we shouldn't... be so close. He said it would lead to trouble."

Saria's look changed from sternness to incredulity in a flash; he saw in them, too, similar fears. In that moment he learned his feelings were mutual, both a joy and a lament to him.

For a few minutes, they just sat there, looking at each other.

Then, from across the room toward the entrance frame, a shuffling and scuttling could be heard; Link turned fast enough to catch the greedy emerald glare of Mido's eye before the dark rain

swallowed him. "What is it?" Asked Saria, giving him an anxious glance; she didn't see Mido, but knew well to trust Link's instincts.

He hesitated a moment, then relaxed. If Mido overheard the conversation, there wasn't much to fear; they hadn't gone into detail. But, enough was said to be cautious about. Yes, cautious.

"Nothing, don't worry about it."

But she obviously was worried. Link already had harder nerve than most, and he didn't jump at shadows. But she decided against inquiry; they had a lot to talk about, and she trusted his

judgement.

So, once again, they sat in silence. Saria thought and mulled over the Deku Tree's words to Link, and why he would think them being close would 'lead to trouble'. True, they were closer than

most, but they were friends, and friends are supposed to be close. But Link was a lot closer than any of her other friends, even her fairy, who spent more time dozing in treebranches than

with her.

But something still, something more, felt different with him. It was strange; a tugging sensation crossing her skin, a rippling of her pores, a most curious sensation in her stomach...

She'd been alive for a very long time, and never felt that way before around anyone; it didn't scare her, but it was certainly unusual. Looking at his distant gaze into the fire, the towel

draped around his shoulders, she felt that feeling return; it wasn't unpleasant at all, to be honest. Soothing, in the way the tide laps her feet. Soothing, in that warm, soft way.

She caught his eye and smiled wanly. "Know what?"

"What?" He returned with a monotonous look.

"I don't care what the Deku Tree says. There's nothing wrong with our friendship," spoke Saria. He had to have misunderstood the Deku Tree; there's no way he would have said such a

thing to Link. "And don't you worry about it either, okay?" He gave her a distant nod, once more returning his eyes to the flickering flame. This began to scare her; Link was acting stranger

than ever. "There was something else, wasn't there," asked she.

Link began to speak, but halted himself; Saria was worried enough, and he didn't want to go into detail about the recurring dream anyways.

But Saria was not disinclined so easily. Tactfully, she quieted herself, instead pulling her ocarina out of the folds of her towel and raising it to her lips. Recalling a lightening melody, she

played a quiet score, hoping to brighten the mood. Finishing with a lilting tone, she decided to pose the question once more to him, in a softer voice. "Was there anything else?"

Link, who was at that point resting on the rugged carpet with the towel propped under his head like a pillow, raised himself up to meet her. "It's nothing," he responded, "just some odd

dreams. Nothing to worry about." He gave her a quiet smile before once again resting his head against the warm towel.

Following suit, Saria bunched her towel and curled up beside him. For awhile, they listened to the crackle of the fireplace and the increasingly distant sound of rainfall. The day, which had

been for the most part dark and stormy, began to brighten into an overcast midday; the sun made brief appearances in the sky, but was for the most part canopied by the clouds.

Glancing toward his closed eyes, she wished fervently that she could see into his mind for just a moment, to understand his thoughts and feelings, without the halted akwardness of carefully

selected words.

Saria held herself there. She needed to figure out what kind of dreams he was talking about, not to get distracted by her own thoughts.

A few minutes passed, and Link's breathing slowed. Glancing over to him, she was worried he'd dozed off completely. She needn't have; only a few minutes passed before he began to

sweat and turn. Soon after, the periodic shivering began, despite the warmth of the room; Saria put her hand across his forehead, gathering cold sweat between her fingers. At that, his

eyes snapped open; nothing in the world could unsettle her more than the look of terror in them. Within them she saw fire, shadow and storm, elements of the cruellest nightmares.

He sat bolt upright, panting heavily, seemingly unaware of where he was. For a few moments, his head swivelled left to right, searching for some unseen evil, before resting upon Saria's

familiar face. At that, he relaxed, laying back down onto the towel, still panting.

"What the hell was that?" Whispered Saria, the mask of shock still on her face.

"That was... That's what it's been like for the past few weeks," he answered, still only half awake; the man-thing was gone, but his shadow still haunted Link's mind. "I don't know what it

means, but I've been reliving the same dream constantly."

Saria at once noticed the shaded purple under his eyes and realised his aloofness was not only due to the Deku Tree; from the looks of it, he hadn't had a good sleep in weeks. Seeing this,

there remained only one option. "Well, whatever it is, it isn't natural. We need to talk to the Deku Tree, Link. It might be something serious!"

Link managed a small smirk, despite his headache. "I thought you were the one who didn't care what the Deku Tree said," said he.

Saria gave him a frustrated look; she saw that the last thing he wanted was to see the Deku Tree, so what was she supposed to do? Let him be about it? Or... "Okay, fine, I get it. No Deku

Tree," said Saria, "but you need some proper rest. Take my bed and sleep for awhile."

Seeing that there was no getting out of this one, Link nodded halfheartedly and pulled himself up toward her small bed on the opposite side of the room, laying himself heavily into the straw

coverings.

Saria hated to decieve him, but what else could be done? He's stubborn as a rock, thinking these kinds of things blow over? But what truly motivated her was the Deku Tree's words to Link.

Of course the reason for the secret trip to see the Deku Tree was purely concerning Link's welfare, but surely there's no harm in asking the Deku Tree to clarify what he told him? With this in

mind, Saria waited until Link's breathing slowed again before stepping lightly out toward the Deku Tree's meadow.

Easily bypassing the Deku Babas that stood sentry to the clearing, she made her way toward the gargantuan hulk of the Great Deku Tree, guardian of the forest. As if she didn't expect it so,

the Deku Tree sensed her arrival; not a moment after the tree became visible did she hear his booming, echoing voice deep in her mind.

_**Greetings, Saria.**_

The Deku Tree's intrustive method of communication was impossible to get used to, no matter how many times she heard it. "I'm here about Link, O Great Deku Tree-"

_**Concerning his dreams.**_

Taken offguard, but certainly not surprised, she responded with a strong nod.

_**Child Saria, we have much to discuss; for you must play a role in Link's quest, a vital role.**_

Now Saria was surprised. "What quest?"

_**Link's nightmares are a sign. A great evil threatens Hyrule, an evil which is destined to end my long life. Carve for Link an ocarina. You will know when the time comes.**_

The Deku Tree? Dying? This was utterly incomprehendable to Saria, a forest child who lived under her guardian's protection for over a thousand years. "I don't understand, Deku Tree. What

do you mean by 'A Great Evil'?"

_**In three days' time, I shall summon Link to my clearing. He will have a fairy. You must not show knowledge of these events, child Saria, it is imperitive.**_

Still lost on the concept of the Deku Tree's death, she nodded brusquely, only half listening.

_**When child Link leaves for my clearing, you must enter the Lost Woods, and play the song you taught yourself within. The spirits will guide you well.**_

With that, she turned and made her dazed way back to her house.

The Deku Tree made no attempt to stop her; his message was across, and Hyrule now rested in the hands of fate, the soft hands of the boy without a fairy.


End file.
